


We can set the world on fire

by phanjessmagoria



Series: Sometimes I wish for falling [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-21 14:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6054922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanjessmagoria/pseuds/phanjessmagoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years ago, 5 Seconds of Summer was a band, Cashton was totally a thing, and the four boys never even considered the possibility that they wouldn't be together anymore.</p><p>Five years ago, all of that changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (Prologue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _We were going way too fast, chasing down the hourglass_

“You're not really going to do this, are you?” Michael asked, shooting Calum a sidelong look and lowering his phone, giving the other boy his full attention. They were sitting in the lounge area in the back of their tour bus—they were a couple months into the tour and Calum had made the decision that he was going to get himself a new tattoo in the next city they stopped in.

“I am,” Calum said, barely glancing over at him. He knew Michael thought it was a shitty idea, and really, Calum knew it was too, but if there was anything tour life taught him, it was that being stupid and impulsive were often the key to enjoying himself. Hell—he could even make the argument that being stupid and impulsive was the only thing that got him where he was today. Number one: He'd ditched a promising football career to take a chance on himself and three other dorks who were now on their second world tour. Number two: He'd come clean to Ashton and they were still going pretty damn strong. They'd moved in together. They'd _adopted a dog_ together. They'd brought her on tour.

It was for those exact reasons that he wanted to get the tattoo in the first place. It was stupid and impulsive, but being stupid and impulsive had led to the two best things in his stupid, impulsive life, so he was just going with it.

“It's gonna fuck everything up, man,” Michael said, and he sounded grave this time. “Shit like this—it's the kiss of death. I'm telling you.”

“You're not the authority on tattoos,” Calum said, and when Michael opened his mouth again, he added, “or on relationships,” and that shut him up.

For about three seconds, anyway.

“You're going to break up if you go through with it, I am absolutely sure of that.”

“Michael,” Calum said, shifting a little—and displacing the dog laying half on his lap, who yawned and adjusted herself. Calum lifted a hand to scratch between her ears; she dug her nose into his thigh. “Worry about yourself, all right?”

Michael scoffed in response. “I'm just looking out for you.” Calum gave him a look, so Michael changed tack. “And your dog. I don't want Sparky to be the child of divorce.”

At the sound of her name, the dog perked up and looked at Michael—who absolutely gave her too many treats...and generally just as much food as he could sneak her. It was part of the reason why she liked him so much.

“She won't be,” Calum said, petting her again; she'd put her head back down when she realized Michael didn't have anything edible to offer her.

“What're you gonna get, anyway?” Michael asked, sounding just curious enough to be innocently interested, even though he was totally asking to gauge how terrible of an idea this really was on Calum's part.

“Kind of thinking about getting his initials, like I have my mum's and dad's,” Calum replied, after a moment.

Michael almost, _almost_ groaned out loud—that was the actual worst idea he'd ever heard. Getting a boyfriend or girlfriend's name tattooed anywhere was as good as breaking up with them then and there.

“Do I even need to—” Michael began, but Calum cut him off.

“No, you don't need to,” Calum said, trying to rein in how over this conversation he was. “I already know. And you aren't going to change my mind.”

“I hate you,” Michael said, and he was kidding about hating _Calum_ in his entirety, but he would totally hate whatever patch of skin he got Ashton's initials tattooed on.

Calum shrugged. “I can live with that.” He turned and gave Michael a winning smile.

–

The buzz of the needles drilling into skin made Calum smile; it was audible as soon as Ashton pulled open the door for them to enter the shop. They stepped in over the threshold and approached the counter, behind which several artists were working.

“Right with ya,” one of them shouted over the din. Ashton smiled a little at his accent—they were somewhere in Georgia, and they could make out the slight twang of a southern American accent even with all the noise in the room. Calum leaned onto the counter in front of them, lacing his fingers together and glancing at the portfolio books fanned out. Ashton chose one and began flipping through it, studying each piece displayed on the pages.

The artist who'd spoken to them shut off his machine and leaned down to speak to the girl whose arm he was tattooing, then put the machine aside and stood up, crossing over to Calum and Ashton. “How can I help you two?”

“I want to get initials like these,” he began, holding out his hands and flexing them a little, “on the back of my elbow.”

The artist looked at Calum, then at Ashton, then back at Calum. He didn't ask any other questions, and just nodded. “All right. What're the initials?”

Ashton almost answered, because they were his, but in his moment of hesitation, Calum spoke instead. “A, F, I,” he said.

“No problem,” he said. “I just gotta finish up, shouldn't be more'n twenty, thirty minutes. You can wait if you want.” He nodded to a low couch set behind where they were standing.

“Thanks,” Calum said as the artist turned away again, returning to his stool and picking up his tattoo machine again. Calum sat down, with Ashton sitting beside him.

Calum leaned back, arm draped over the side of the couch, utterly relaxed—but Ashton was leaning over his knees, one hand holding the wrist of his other arm, while he bounced his leg up and down repeatedly.

“Cal,” he said, after a few minutes of silence.

“Mm?” Calum hummed in response, glancing over at Ashton.

“Just—you don't have to do this, you know,” he said, and it almost sounded like a question, like he wasn't even sure he wanted to be saying it, but just wanted Calum to know he could change his mind.

“I know,” Calum said, sounding very sure of himself. “I want to.”

“Yeah,” said Ashton, “but—”

“Ash,” Calum said. Ashton looked at him and sighed. Calum continued. “I want to. Even if we don't— _especially_ if we don't—you know, whatever...it still happened.” He gestured between the two of them. “ _We_ still happened. I want to remember it.”

–

Maybe he did still remember it. Ashton wouldn't know—he hadn't seen any of the other members of the band 5 Seconds of Summer in almost five years.

They'd put out another few albums, done another few tours—but after another few years, the band wasn't the same as it had been. Each of them wanted different things: Luke wanted to tour; Michael wanted to focus on writing songs he was proud of, instead of what would end up on pop radio; Calum wanted smaller-scale success, to be appreciated for the music instead of just being mistaken for a boy band constantly. And Ashton? He would have been happy with any of the three. He still wanted Calum, of course—but he missed his mum, his younger siblings. He barely got to see Harry or Lauren, and he'd missed them growing up—something nigh unforgivable, in his opinion.

The split was as amicable as it could be—Michael and Luke remained in Los Angeles, Calum and Ashton returned to Sydney. It ended with all of them on good terms—really.

Michael and Luke no longer shared that apartment they'd gotten five years prior to the split, but they tried to make it work with just the two of them. They wrote together, recorded together—they'd even put out an EP together, but it didn't last. Michael wasn't as focused on touring as Luke was; he'd rather write. Luke lived for the stage—he wanted to be up in front of screaming fans. The two of them called it off after a few months.

Luke got a new band, tried to renounce his frontman status but failed (that kind of thing didn't happen by accident, and the job fit him more than he fit the job). He got exactly what he wanted: Multiple sold out tour dates in every city they stopped in, adoring fans, fame, fortune. Luke just wanted to be able to go on stage and sing his heart out to the crowd, to hear them pour _their_ hearts into every word they shouted back to him. He always answered Calum and Ashton's texts, when he had time. 

Michael was equally popular—but in a much different, more subdued way. Where Luke was popular in the public eye, Michael was huge in small circles. He'd never actually say it, but he likened his fans to something of a cult following, like a movie that was only popular with college kids, but was popular with _every_ college kid. He played solo shows with friends of his backing him up, in smaller venues that sold out in minutes. He played secret shows for free or a few songs in the middle of his friend's band's sets (and he frequented Luke's shows more than any other musician he knew). He, too, always made time for Cal and Ash when he could.

Calum found a local band he meshed with after his first few gigs didn't work out—they were popular in the scene in Sydney; they barely got out of the city and if they did, it was to Melbourne, Brisbane, Adelaide—places they could get to in a few hours by plane. It was much closer to what Calum was looking for; he could walk outside of his apartment and not worry about being mobbed—well, after a while, anyway. Once it really hit home that 5 Seconds of Summer wasn't a band anymore, he was, for the most part, left well enough alone.

And Ashton, well. It wasn't as though he'd ever actually felt _out of place_ in the band, but he'd kind of always thought he could back away from all the fame and it wouldn't affect him all that much. He missed it—who wouldn't?—but he was happy living back in Sydney, near his family. He got a pretty sweet job as a session musician at a recording studio in the heart of the city—he didn't only drum, and he got steady work playing for other musicians.

Calum and Ashton had tried to make it work between them for a few months after they got back to Australia—at that point, they'd been together for nearly five years, which was a long time to just throw away—but things were too different after the band split. It almost seemed like their relationship had been a product of their environment, of being with each other every hour of every day, and maybe not something that would have developed naturally otherwise. Something between them had changed, now that they were living in one place and not moving around the world, hitting five different cities in as many days, seeing countries that they'd never even dreamed of visiting.

They tried to meet for lunch often, then downgraded it to coffee “at least once a month,” before one of them or the other forgot to call and schedule their next meeting. Gradually, the pair of them fell out of touch.

Michael brought it up to Luke whenever he got a text from Calum or Ashton, or whenever Luke mentioned getting one: How happy he was that they still kept in touch, but how sad it was that Cashton died. Luke would roll his eyes—they were too old to use those portmanteau ship names anymore, but secretly, he agreed with the sentiment. Calum and Ashton had been inseparable—even before they were a couple, they were best friends—and it had really seemed like the two of them could make it work, no matter what. At least he and Michael were still together, still friends, still working together to make music—from the way it sounded, Calum and Ashton never saw each other anymore, despite living in the same city. From the way it sounded, they were both barely even a fleeting thought to each other.

Except Luke was wrong—the band had broken up nearly five years prior, and Ashton still, regularly, thought of Calum.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You're all I need; come now, set me free_

“So anyway,” Eric said, looking around the room at the faces looking back at him. “I know we didn't plan a practice tonight, but...” he trailed off, first meeting Calum's eyes, then Tyler's. “Jimmy quit. He...wanted to spend more time with his wife, or something. I think she's pregnant? I don't know, it's kind of bullshit. He's been in the band for years.” He sighed, clearly pissed.

Calum had been expecting it—not a pregnancy, or whatever, but that one of the other guys had quit. There was only one real reason why any of them wouldn't be at the “emergency band meeting” Eric had texted about earlier, and he assumed it would be that.

The three of them were sitting in Eric's living room, which also doubled as his bedroom and dining room—he rented an apartment over this old couple's garage; they also let the band use the garage for their practice space because they were both hard of hearing and said Eric reminded them of their grandson. It was free and convenient—in other words, perfect.

“So what now?” Tyler asked, crossing his legs, the ankle of his right leg resting on his left knee. He leaned back further on the couch, frowning. “We were about to record.”

“We were,” Eric said, nodding. “I mean—we can put an ad on Craigslist and see if anyone gets back to us in a couple days.”

“We record next week,” Calum said, shifting his weight on the couch cushion, leaning a little forward. “We'd have to audition them, and _then_ see if they even fit with us.” He gestured to the three of them in one sweeping motion.

“I know it's not ideal—” Eric began, but Tyler cut him off.

“I don't really want to find someone on Craigslist,” he said, frowning. He hadn't even been too keen on Calum joining up with the band, and they'd met him in person at a show a few years back. Tyler, even now, struck Calum as the kind of guy who was never happy with anything or anyone unless he was directly involved from the beginning.

“Then what should we do?” Calum asked, looking over at Tyler.

Tyler shrugged one shoulder, looked between Calum and Eric, then shrugged again. “Session musician?”

Calum groaned, but Eric looked like he was considering it.

“That could work just until we find someone else,” Eric said, nodding after a moment.

“The studio has this one guy, I heard he's pretty good,” Tyler said. “My mate Neil's worked with him a few times, practically swears by him for this kind of thing.”

“Sounds like he's better than 'pretty good,'” Eric replied. “And Neil's used him for drumming?”

“Neil's used him for drumming, he's used him for _everything_ ,” Tyler went on. “I think the guy plays guitar, piano, drums—you name it.”

“Good,” Eric said. “I'll call tomorrow and make sure we can get him.” He looked around and sighed. “Want to get in a quick practice? I mean, you're here anyway.”

Calum shrugged, and Tyler nodded, so the three of them headed downstairs to the garage. When Mr. and Mrs. Lee, the elderly homeowners, appeared at the door to watch, they didn't bother to tone it down. Mr. Lee, face plastered with a wrinkly grin, gave them a thumbs up.

–

Calum gripped the handle of his guitar case tight—he'd parked in the lot beside the recording studio, and the trip wasn't even far—but this bass (black with a bright pink X painted across the front) was the oldest one he still had, and that meant it was the most special to him. He pulled open the door of the studio, finding Eric already there, waiting.

“Hey,” he greeted Calum. “Tyler's on his way.” He stepped closer and sighed, though no one else was in the reception area to hear him complain. “Not that it matters,” he continued, voice much lower, “because the band before us is running late. Which is bullshit—” Calum smirked. Everything that didn't go Eric's way was always deemed _bullshit_ “—because they're using our drummer, too. So we can't even talk to him until he's done in there.” He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder, indicating the studio.

Calum shrugged—it was easier to be relaxed about stuff that he couldn't control, and this definitely fell into that category. He gently set his bass case down on the floor beside him, then stepped closer to the door that led to the control room, just past which was the actual recording studio. Calum could hear them playing, as he neared the door, and he stopped dead for a second, because he would be willing to bet that he knew the drummer back there.

The rhythm of the drumming was something that was completely unfamiliar to Calum—a song unheard, clearly—but he still felt it in his core, like it was his own heartbeat. They say drummers—good ones, anyway—can be told apart from each other, and Calum was absolutely certain that he knew whoever was in that room, playing. He tried to sneak forward to peek through the window into the control room, but just as he did, the the manager appeared on the other side and held out a hand to stop him from coming any closer.

The song ended, and he waited a moment before opening the door and exiting the back room. He heard the engineer talking to the band as the door swung shut on its hinges, slowly and silently.

“Sorry, bud,” he said, actually putting his hand on Calum and pushing him backward a step. “Private session. I shouldn't have even let you get this close to the door.” He rolled his eyes. “You know how it is.” Eric frowned, clearly irritated that whatever band was in there was cutting into his band's time. “They're done, I think,” the manager said to appease him, looking back over his shoulder. “That was supposed to be their last song.”

Eric nodded, biting back a snippy “Good,” and just adjusted the strap of his guitar case on his shoulder. Calum picked up his bass again, as the engineer came out as well.

“They're just packing up,” she said, giving Eric and Calum a smile, as the door to the street opened and Tyler walked in.

“About time,” Eric began angrily, but the door to the control room opened, cutting off anything else he might have said.

“I'm just gonna grab some fresh air before the next session,” Ashton said, and Calum must have done at least a triple-take—that was how surprised he was.

“Ash?” he said, but his voice caught in his throat, and it barely came out as a squeak. “Ashton?” he tried again, and this time his voice worked—it came out of his mouth and Eric, Tyler, and Ashton all looked over at him—the former two because they were surprised that Calum knew this guy, and Ashton because he recognized the voice he hadn't heard in half a decade.

Calum nearly dropped his bass—he felt like he'd lost control of his hands. He hadn't seen Ashton for just about five years, and it had to have been months since they last texted.

“Cal?” Ashton said, the semi-permanent smile on his face widening to a grin as he realized just who he was speaking to. “Oh my god, Calum Hood.” Calum put his bass down as Ashton crossed the room and pulled him into a tight hug. “They didn't tell me it was your band coming in!”

"They didn't tell me you were the drummer!" Calum said, holding Ashton tight against him in the hug. Eric, Tyler, the studio manager, and engineer all looked on, watching silently.

Ashton still smelled the same, Calum thought—he looked essentially identical to the version of himself that was five years his junior, though his hair was longer, long enough to be tied back in a short ponytail that just curled up on itself, the way it used to.

"Called me in last minute," Ashton said, and Calum could tell just by his voice that he was grinning (he ignored an irritated Eric saying to the manager, “Last minute? I phoned you about this last week!”). He gave Ashton's back a hearty slap before they parted, and when Ashton met his eyes again, the smile on his face hadn't receded at all. “I'm going to just step outside for a minute—like three hours in there, you know how it gets—want to come with?”

Calum was nodding and saying “Yes” before he even realized that maybe he should give Eric and Tyler some sort of explanation of what was happening—but then, they knew who Calum was, and what band he'd been in when he was younger. Still, it seemed rude not to introduce them, at least.

“Ash, this is—this is Eric, and Tyler,” he said, gesturing to each of them in turn. “Guys, this is Ashton, my—my—” He trailed off; he wasn't sure how to categorize Ashton, not anymore. Ex-boyfriend? Former bandmate? Old best friend? “Ah...we were in 5 Seconds of Summer together.”

Eric and Tyler shook Ashton's hand, greeting him; Eric was looking nervously at Calum, like he was going to decide to quit too and leave them without a drummer _or_ a bassist.

“Nice to meet you,” Ashton said, but still inched toward the door—he was sweating a little, Calum could tell—he always overexerted himself when he played. “Mind if I borrow Calum for a few minutes?”

Eric just shook his head—what else could he do? Even if he'd said no, Calum had every intention of ignoring him and following Ashton outside anyway. It wasn't like they could record anything without a drummer.

Ashton led Calum away from the door a bit; he stood on the the curb, feet hanging over it as he allowed himself to teeter on the edge, hands shoved in his pockets. Calum stood beside him, looking over at him, studying his profile. After a moment, Ashton turned to his left, studying Calum just the same.

“Five years,” Ashton said, and Calum just nodded. He didn't sound mad—but then, he supposed, it wasn't really either of their faults that they'd stopped talking as much (more like, stopped talking at all). 

“Five years,” Calum echoed him after a moment.

“You look good,” Ashton said, quickly, like he just wanted to get it out there. “I like the sleeve you got going on there.” He nodded to Calum's left arm, covered in designs, the tattoos that Ashton had known, had traced with his fingers and lips, now crowded with more ink around them than he'd ever imagined Calum would put into his skin.

“Oh, yeah,” Calum said, holding it out to Ashton showing him his forearm; he was wearing a long-sleeved Henley, so he tugged the sleeve up a bit more, to his elbow. “Just wanted a change, you know?”

Ashton nodded, though he himself hadn't gotten any more tattoos in the years since the band split. He understood the reasoning behind Calum's decision to cover his arm up—he wanted a change; he wanted to move on, to leave the past in the past. Surely he'd covered up the stupid, impulsive tattoo he'd gotten that day in Georgia, when he made Ashton part of himself forever. He didn't blame Calum; he might have done the same thing if he'd gotten _CTH_ inked into his skin.

Ok, well—that was a bold-faced lie. They'd loved each other then, but sometimes Ashton still felt as though he was still in love with Calum, like whatever he'd felt for him hadn't ever really dissolved into nothingness, but had just moved to the back of his mind when it wasn't being thought about or acknowledged. Every now and then something would remind Ashton of Calum and the feelings would be back, sparked to life in the pit of his stomach, igniting a longing that could never be satisfied and was only made worse knowing that he could just call Calum and make plans to see him whenever he wanted. His pride stopped him from doing that—Calum had moved on, and that was something he knew for certain now. The tattoos on his forearm, and whatever he'd covered up Ashton's initials with, proved that. So now Ashton could move on too.

“So—is this what you do now?” Calum asked, snapping Ashton out of his thoughts. It was like resurfacing from a pool of water, taking a cool breath of night air; it was something he imagined countless times—Calum beside him, pulling him out of his own head.

“Sorry, what?” Ashton asked—he'd been too wrapped up in thinking about how he and Calum used to be to even listen, which was asinine because he had Calum with him right now, for real, and he was too busy thinking about when they were together, and when they were _together_.

“I said,” Calum began again, poking Ashton's arm to be sure he was listening this time, “is this what you do now? Session drumming?”

“Not just drumming,” Ashton said, as the door to the studio opened behind them and the musicians from the previous band filed out, two wheeling equipment, one carrying a laptop computer, and the other with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, probably filled with cables and mics. Calum watched them go before another of them walked out, carrying two guitar cases with a third on his back. He could see Eric making for the door, likely to call them back in.

“Want to catch up after this? Grab a beer?” Calum asked, looking at Ashton as Eric, sure enough, opened the door and shouted “Hey!” to them, even though they were hardly far enough away to warrant yelling.

“Yeah,” Ashton said, looking over at Calum, his hazel eyes meeting Calum's brown ones. Neither of them would admit to it, but there was still a pull between them. They both felt it.

–

And they both ignored it. 

Even though once they were both in that studio together it was exactly the same as it had been five, seven, ten years prior, neither of them would acknowledge that they could easily slip back into who they were when they were still in the same band. Ashton had already decided—Calum had moved on, so all he had to do was just record the drums for his new band, and maybe they could form another friendship that would hopefully last. Maybe they'd both make the effort this time. He really hoped so.

The first song went well enough—the manager apparently really had only called Ashton in last minute, so it took a few minutes for him to get the hang of the tempo and how it should be played. Calum could tell by the vein bulging in Eric's temple that he was about to flip out on all of them. Just as he opened his mouth, Calum turned away from his mic, and stepped toward the drum kit. “Just take a minute, mate,” Calum said to Ashton, who glanced up and grinned at him. “You'll get it.”

Ashton played a drumroll then stopped himself, catching sight of Eric behind Calum. “Let's go again.”

Tyler met Eric's eyes, almost seeming apologetic for being the one to suggest Ashton, who clearly didn't have his shit together. 

“Ready when you are,” the engineer said to them, and a red light above the door blinked on to indicate that the recording had begun. Eric and Calum stepped back up to their microphones, ready to record the first take of the song. Ashton counted them off, and they played through—it was kind of rough, but Calum thought Ashton did damn well for his first time playing with two musicians he didn't know. 

There was one point when they were playing, that Calum had glanced back over his shoulder—it was weird to be on Ashton's right side, instead of his left as it was back when they were in 5 Seconds of Summer—and saw Ashton playing just as passionately as he ever had. It made him smile—and brought back the urge to play with Michael and Luke again. He was glad to see that the connection he and Ashton had back then had apparently stuck with them—he felt more in sync with Ash than he could ever remember feeling with Jimmy. Maybe it was just nostalgia, but he really felt like it was true.

The song ended, the music faded out and another moment after that, the red light shut off. Eric huffed—though he found he had nothing to complain about just yet. He looked to Ashton. “Nice take,” he said. “I'm just going to give it a listen and then you can record your drum track.”

Ashton nodded, giving one of his drumsticks a twirl in his hand, before lowering it. “Sounds good to me.”

Eric left the room; Calum could see him speaking to the engineer, asking for a playback of the recording so he could undoubtedly give Ashton, and the rest of them, feedback on what they'd fucked up. The speakers in the control room blared to life. From what Calum could tell, it sounded great, if not a little muffled.

“Not bad,” Calum said, approaching Ashton where he sat again.

“Oh, thanks,” Ashton said, smirking. “Not like I do this for a living or anything.”

“You could have been more prepared,” Calum said—half because Tyler was still in the room and probably definitely listening.

“I only found out I was supposed to be here yesterday,” Ashton said, and Tyler snickered. Ashton ignored him and continued. “Alan—the manager—he forwarded your live tracks over to me not even a day ago. Barely had any time to listen to them and learn.”

“Good thing we even sent them in the first place,” Tyler said. Calum knew him well enough to be able to tell he didn't think Ashton was all his mate Neil cracked him up to be, but Ashton either couldn't tell or didn't rise to the slight.

“Damn right,” he said. “Not often you get to hear what it's _actually_ supposed to sound like before you record it. Some people just come in here with guitar parts and the rest is kind of up to me.”

Tyler just nodded and shrugged one shoulder, heading out to hear the rest of the song with Eric. With just the two of them in the room, Calum stepped even closer to Ashton, his bass hanging around him on its strap.

“I can't believe you still play that one,” Ashton said, nodding at the guitar. Calum had expected small talk—but the complete lack of awkwardness between them was actually refreshing. He'd expected that too, after they broke up and then apparently made a job out of avoiding each other—but it just wasn't there, and Calum was glad for it. It felt like they were still best friends, even after everything.

“It's practically an antique by now,” Calum said, and Ashton laughed. The sound hit Calum like a slap—he hadn't heard Ashton laugh in years, and hearing it now brought back too many memories that weren't really convenient: The first time they'd fooled around and laughed immediately afterward in that hotel room; the time they'd seen Sparky at the animal shelter before deciding to adopt her and she'd jumped up on Ashton's front, trying to lick him anywhere she could, both of them laughing at how excited she was; the time Calum had tugged the bandage off of a fresh tattoo, Ashton's initials boldly imprinted into his skin, and Ashton gave a laugh that started off nervously at the permanence of the thing, before becoming more pronounced, more carefree. Ashton's laugh panged around Calum's chest, filling him up with more emotion than he knew what to do with—and it must have shown on his face, because Ashton's next question had nothing to do with the bass slung over his body.

“You all right?” Ashton asked, lifting himself half off his stool, expression clearly worried.

“Yeah, no, I'm good,” Calum assured him, adjusting the guitar strap on his shoulder.

Ashton's eyes flicked over to the window, showing Eric and Tyler speaking to the engineer, before returning to Calum's face. “Just getting reacquainted with rhythm section life?”

Calum laughed, then nodded. That was as good an excuse as any, and it was nice to think that Ashton still remembered calling it that, when the two of them always seemed to just _get_ each other because of the instruments they played. “Yeah.”

Ashton smiled, reaching up to tighten the rubberband holding his hair back, when the studio door opened again and Eric nodded to Ashton.

“You good with laying drums down now?” he asked.

“Sure am,” Ashton said, grinning at Eric, who motioned for Calum to leave the room so Ashton could record to the playback of the track they'd just recorded. Calum placed his bass down on a stand, then left, joining Tyler behind the engineer; Eric followed and stood beside her. He acted like he knew what he was doing, but had no real idea how to work the equipment in the control room. Calum liked to point this out just to piss him off—and then joke about how he barely knew how to play a guitar. Judging by his expression, though, it didn't seem like the right time. The engineer began recording as Ashton played his drums to the track they'd just done.

Calum watched him; he found that he didn't want to move his eyes anywhere else. He just wanted to focus on Ashton as he played the shit out of a song he hadn't even written. It was something he'd gotten used to, being in the same band as Ashton, but after being apart for so long, he'd somehow forgotten just how into this, into creating music, Ashton was.

Eric had his arms crossed over his chest—Ashton was fucking killing it in there. Even Tyler looked bitter, which meant he had been forced to rethink his previous decision that Ashton was probably just a hack who got lucky.

By the time the track ended, Calum was grinning widely; he was so fucking proud of Ashton for showing Eric and Tyler that he was good enough for them—and if Calum had to admit it, better than Jimmy was. He put his heart into what he did, even though his heart didn't have to be in it—he wasn't invested in this for any longer than they were paying him to be. But there he was, giving it his all, just like he'd done on every track they'd recorded for 5 Seconds of Summer.

“Earth to Calum,” a voice said, and he blinked, snapping out of his reminiscences. He turned to his left, where Tyler was standing. He was looking at Calum, but after a second his eyes slipped back to focus on something just past where Calum was standing, so he turned as well. Eric was looking at him expectantly—he was the one who had spoken. “Hello?”

“Sorry,” Calum apologized, even though he didn't know what, if anything, he had to apologize for.

“You ready to record now?” Eric jerked his thumb into the studio; Ashton was at the door, walking into the control room. “Once you're done, Tyler and I will go in, then we'll do vocals.”

Calum nodded—they rarely used him for vocals, so once he did his bass track, he'd be able to hopefully talk to Ashton a bit more. They had a total of five songs they wanted to get down today—and if Ashton was anything to go by, they'd have them all done relatively quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready,” Calum said, walking back past Eric and Ashton, who was holding the door for him, and into the studio.

He was used to being watched when he played, especially when he recorded—Eric was a control freak and Tyler was a perfectionist, but having Ashton out there was different. He wasn't _nervous_ —playing sold-out shows at some of the biggest venues they could find had sort of nipped that one in the bud—but Ashton being out there changed the game a little. Calum could see them all, but as the recording of the drums started, and he began his own part of the song, he felt like the only person watching him was Ashton.

At one point, he glanced up at the window, fingers stilling on the strings, briefly pausing before he had to begin playing again, and he met Ashton's eyes. He was grinning, eyes not leaving Calum's face—but Calum wasn't sure if he wanted to allow himself to think that Ashton might even been feeling slightly similar to how he'd felt out there, watching Ashton play. He might have been feeling the same nostalgia that Calum felt, the same longing to be back onstage together, playing songs they _wrote_ together, but Ashton had moved on, just like Calum had.

Or, like Calum thought he had.

It was overwhelming to have met Ashton in this exact scenario, to see him again in his element. Ashton had always been the mature one in their little quartet, the one who took it the most seriously, the one who had pushed them. Michael had stared the band, had sworn they would go places, but Ashton was the one who urged them the hardest to succeed, who kept them all together, until they'd splintered apart, ending up on two different continents, barely even talking save for a few text messages.

He began playing again, but he could tell he missed his cue by half a beat because of how Eric's face crumpled in disappointment and Tyler's face hardened in irritation. Ashton, though, only laughed—which caused both Eric and Tyler to look at him, disbelieving. Calum smiled a little too—of course Ashton thought Calum fucking up was funny. He always had whenever Calum had done it in the past. It was just another thing that made him long for his previous life and the people in it.

Which—

That was impossible. He wasn't sure if he, or any of them, could ever go back to that now. It seemed just out of reach, too much for them to try for. The easiest thing to do was just forget about it, ignore any residual feelings he might have for Ashton, and just focus on the band, the recording session, and trying to build up a _friendship_ with the guy again. That was the best thing for everyone involved.

–

“That guy Eric is pretty intense, huh,” Ashton said. Eric and Tyler had left after the recording session was over, but Calum had followed Ashton down the street a ways to a bar Ashton said was pretty good, despite the sketchy vibe the place gave off. It wasn't really a dive bar, he insisted, it just looked like one.

“Yeah,” Calum agreed. “He started the band, so he's just...really protective of it, I guess, if that makes sense? He wants it to be great.”

“You guys are great,” Ashton said, leading Calum into the bar, which was dimly lit and fairly crowded. They chose a small table near the back; Calum sat and placed his bass case beside him on the floor. He wasn't entirely happy about having it here, but it being in his sight was better than leaving it in his car. This was one bass he wouldn't risk losing or having stolen—it held too much importance for him to play with his chances like that. “I just meant—you slipped once and he gave you a hard time.”

Calum shrugged, looking around at the blackboards hung up behind the bar, touting different brews to try and nightly specials. “Probably didn't help that you laughed.”

Ashton smiled—Calum could see it even in the darkness of the bar. “Oh. You saw that?”

“Yeah,” Calum said, returning the smile despite himself.

“Yeah, Eric didn't like that either,” Ashton said, then glanced over at the bar, where the guy behind it was eyeing them, clearly willing them to order something. “What'll you have? First one's on me.”

Calum looked over at the boards again, then shook his head—too many choices for a spur of the moment decision. “Whatever you're having.”

Ashton snickered, then stood up and approached the bar. The bartender, a middle-aged guy with a shaved head and too wide a smile, nodded to him. Ashton held up two fingers, saying something Calum couldn't hear, and then nodded, leaning on the bar. He waited while the bartender picked up two glasses, filling them with a beer from one of the many taps back there, glasses angled just so to avoid too much of a head forming. He placed them on the bar for Ashton, who pulled a few crumpled bills out of his pocket and handed them over, waving away any change, then picked up the glasses and returned to Calum, placing one in front of him. The beer must have been dark, because in the low light, it looked nearly opaque. Calum picked his up and sipped it—it was heavy, woody and bitter. He took a second sip—it was good. He nodded to Ashton, who smiled at his approval.

“Glad you like it. That's one of my favorites,” he said.

“It's—yeah. It's good,” Calum said, turning the glass in a circle on the worn wood surface of the table.

Ashton hummed in response, but didn't speak. Calum licked his lip. He could tell if it went any further like this it would become an irreversible awkward silence, and he wasn't about to let that happen, not after they'd picked up where they'd left off so quickly earlier.

“So,” Calum said, and Ashton turned back to him, lips curled in a small smile. He continued. “Do you still talk to Michael and Luke?” This was a safe topic: It wasn't about either of them so he didn't have anything to worry about. Plus, he already knew Ashton still spoke to them. Totally a manageable course of conversation.

“Oh, sure,” Ashton said, leaning back in his chair and sipping his beer. “Michael more than Luke, though. I feel like Luke's always on tour.” 

“Yeah,” Calum agreed, laughing. “Michael plays shows with him, though. I think he mentioned it the last time I spoke to him.” He paused, trying to remember what he'd said. “He—he'll show up at another band's show and like, crash it.”

Ashton was grinning as Calum spoke, and when he finished, he nodded. “Yeah, I heard about that.” He huffed a short-lived breath, almost a laugh that hadn't fully formed in his lungs. “That's cool of him to do.” He paused; they both took a swig of their drinks. “Do you listen to either of them? Their music.”

Calum lifted his glass to his mouth again, buying some time. He did—he actually listened to both of them regularly, though he wasn't sure whether Ashton considered that good or bad. He figured it was a 50/50 shot: Either he'd think it was sad and pathetic, or he'd think it was loyal and justified. Ashton waited, tipping his glass back and forth, the beer inside sloshing around. Calum finally lowered his glass, and nodded.

“Yeah, I do. They, um...they're different. But—” he trailed off, laughing a little before continuing. “It's still so _them_ , you know? I mean—if you listen to them. I just—you can tell, listening, it sounds new but the same.” He looked down at his glass, not really sure if he was making sense. “They're both good at what they do; part of me is glad they stayed in L.A. They deserve everything they get.”

Ashton was watching him, though his face was still angled down at his glass, which he was no longer moving to and fro. After a moment, he nodded. “I know what you mean. I—Do you miss it?”

Calum wasn't sure what Ashton was referring to. Logic would dictate he was asking if Calum missed being together, the four of them in a band. But the expression on his face tipped Calum off that there might be more behind the question that he wasn't grasping, and he wasn't sure if asking Ashton to elaborate was appropriate. Maybe he was just supposed to understand what he was asking, but he didn't.

“I miss a lot of things,” he answered, being vague on purpose, because he wasn't sure of the right answer to give. “It sucks not seeing them often.” He could tell immediately that this was the wrong answer, because Ashton looked away, lifting his beer glass to nearly drain it. Another tip of the wrist and it was empty; he put it down on the table and turned back to Calum in one motion, his customary grin plastered back on his face.

“Know what?” Ashton asked, tone too light to match his expression, and Calum hated it. He felt like he'd done something wrong and Ashton was upset with him for it, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

“What?” Calum asked, not because he particularly wanted to know, but because Ashton was clearly waiting for him to speak before he told.

“I went to see Luke once,” he said. “Last time he toured here.”

“Oh?” Calum asked. It was a nothing response, something to fill the space until Ashton continued.

“Yep,” Ashton said. “He's great onstage—well, you know that. It's like he's everywhere at once.”

Calum did know—he'd lived it, just like Ash had. “It is.”

“I'd've come to see you,” Ashton said, keeping his voice light on purpose, because he didn't want to give Calum the wrong idea. “I just didn't know what you were up to.”

_Fuck._ It clicked as soon as Ashton said it, because he couldn't _quite_ disguise the passive-aggressive tone of his voice, the way the corners of his mouth turned downward into a grimace, as brief as it was. He _was_ upset. It wasn't as simple as they'd all fallen out of touch with each other, or that Calum had stopped contacting all of them—it was that the two of them had stopped contacting each other. That Calum missed seeing Luke and Michael, but not Ashton—which wasn't even _true_ , but was what he had implied.

He knew Ashton well enough to know that he wasn't upset with _Calum_ , he was just upset with the situation—not that that made it any better.

Breaking up had seemed like the right thing at the time. They'd talked about it, they'd both agreed. Something was different between them, but neither of them had been able to pin down what it was, meaning they couldn't fix it. Calum found a new place and signed a new lease. Ashton let him take Sparky (she was really Calum's dog, anyway, he figured). Both of them, without the other knowing, worried that it was a mistake, that maybe it was a phase that would pass and they'd right themselves eventually, that everything would work out between them—but neither of them did anything about it. They had lunch twice, Ashton met Calum and Sparky at a dog park once, and then they just burned out, whatever might have remained between them dissipating.

Calum looked at Ashton, but he wasn't quite meeting his eyes. _I just didn't know what you were up to._ It made him feel like it was entirely his fault—but phones worked both ways. So Calum tried for diplomacy.

“We both lost track,” he tried. “Of...you know, things. Everything. It happens.”

“It shouldn't have happened to us,” Ashton said, and Calum was relieved even though he sounded a little bitter. If Ashton was talking to him, there was hope to salvage things yet. “We were—” Calum held his breath for a shortest moment “—best friends.”

And that was it. That was the last thing Calum needed to know definitively that Ashton was over him. Part of him was glad—they hadn't spent the last five years pining over each other from afar, only getting sporadic updates from Michael and Luke on major happenings in each other's lives (so, essentially...no updates).

“We were,” Calum agreed. Ashton met his eyes this time. “I mean—I still think of you like that. Kind of hard to take over the world together and not like a guy a little.”

Ashton finally cracked a smile. “Damn right,” he said. He cleared his throat—he didn't want to linger on this topic any longer than he had to, and he was glad that he and Calum were apparently in agreement on things. Maybe they were no longer boyfriend material for each other, but they could be friends again, and somehow that might be enough.

“You want another?” Ashton asked, pointing to Calum's glass, which was mostly empty.

“Yeah,” Calum said, but he stood this time. “I'll get it. Another for you?” Ashton nodded, and Calum stepped over to the bar, ordering another two glasses of what they'd just had. He paid and returned to the table with them, sliding one over to Ashton. He wasn't sure if it was on purpose, but Ashton seemed to pointedly wait until Calum's hand was clear of the glass before even reaching for it.

“So, um. Is...” Ashton began, but stopped himself, like he wasn't sure he wanted to ask.

Calum sipped his beer, eyebrows raised over the rim of the glass, waiting for Ashton to continue. When he didn't, Calum put his glass down and spoke. “Is...what?”

“Sparky,” Ashton said, and the “Is she still alive?” was unspoken but understood.

“Oh,” Calum said, and this time it wasn't a nothing response, but Calum still intended it to fill the space with the answer he didn't want to give. That was probably something he should have called Ashton about—she was just his dog as much as she was Calum's, he felt.

But even if Ashton thought that, he didn't say it. His expression changed to a frown, and he leaned onto the table, both elbows against the wood. He was silent for a moment, then finally said something. “She was a good dog.”

“She was,” Calum said, then shifted a little in his seat, pulling his shirt up over his side. There was a tattoo there, a picture of the dog with “Sparky” written below, the serious, stuffy Old English font of the name a stark contrast to the photo of the dog Calum had chosen (ears perked up, tongue lolling out) and that made it somewhat funny to Ashton. He grinned at the sight, ignoring how he could see Calum's stomach, his ribs, and focusing on the tattoo that he could barely make out in the dimness of the bar.

“That's great,” Ashton said, leaning forward to study it more closely. “I love it.”

Calum lowered his shirt after Ashton leaned back in his chair. He allowed them both a moment of silent reflection on the dog, then spoke. “You get any more?”

“Nah,” Ashton said, shaking his head and lifting the beer glass again, taking a long sip. “Haven't found anything worth tattooing yet.” He paused, nodding at Calum's arm, still half-covered by his shirtsleeve. “Guess you did.”

“Lots of stuff worth tattooing,” Calum said, laughing.

“How is Mali?” Ashton asked, pointing for a moment at the bird tattooed on Calum's forearm, her name and just its belly visible.

“She's good,” Calum said, voice brightening. “She's back in Sydney for now, I think. Still doing music, too.”

Ashton smiled—he'd always liked Calum's sister, and she'd always been nice to him, even though he was just a little punk like her brother. “If she ever needs a drummer...” he said, and they both laughed—though Calum totally planned to mention it to her.

–

“I really should go,” Calum said. After his second glass of beer, he'd switched to soda—he had to drive back to his place.

“Fine,” Ashton said. He'd stuck with beer, but spaced them out—not that it mattered. He only needed to climb some stairs to get to his apartment.

“But,” Calum said, standing up and picking up his bass, “we're doing this again soon.”

“Yes,” Ashton nodded, grinning. They could be friends. This would be great. Friends was better than nothing at all. He trailed behind Calum as he walked out onto the sidewalk in front of the bar.

They stood for a moment, facing each other, before Calum threw his free arm around Ashton's neck and pulled him in for a hug. “I missed you, man. It sucked not seeing you, too.”

Ashton returned the hug, lifting his arm in a wave when Calum pulled away and walked backward a few steps, before turning and heading back to the lot where his car was parked. Ashton, though, stood stock still where he was. He'd known Calum had meant him too, before, when he said he missed Luke and Michael, but hearing it like that—hearing it point blank, having Calum say the words “I missed you”—that was all he fucking needed, wasn't it? It was another one of those moments, when all the feelings for Calum he normally kept tucked away unfolded themselves and covered over him, smothering him with stupid, impulsive desire.

_Friends_ , Ashton reminded himself, forcing himself to walk the opposite direction to his place. _Just friends._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I look into your sunset eyes, waiting for the moon to rise_

Calum would never actually understand the reason that his sister wore sunglasses indoors. She didn't do it often, so it wasn't like it was just a quirk she had, but it happened enough that she _had_ to do it on purpose. Maybe, in true elder sibling fashion, she just somehow _knew_ it perplexed him, and thus did it just to fuck with him.

Sometimes, though, he really would swear his sister was clairvoyant. Literally _the day_ after he met up with Ashton, she'd called Calum and told him that they needed to meet for lunch. He knew better than to argue with his sister (who would never _fight_ with him, but instead just persuade him to go along with whatever she wanted), so he agreed to meet her at the small café that she preferred, and that he hated. It served excellent coffee and not much else. He wished she would stop pretending that coffee and a biscotti counted as lunch when it really didn't. Like, not even a little.

Part of him really hoped that he'd beat her there, that she wouldn't already be sitting down, waiting for him, but he had no such luck. She was sitting at a small table right next to the window, her hair tied up on the top of her head in a knot and those damn sunglasses resting on the end of her nose like they were reading glasses. She glanced up just as Calum passed her outside, and smiled widely at him. He half-heartedly returned the smile and continued on to the door of the café which, when opened, assaulted him with the smell of coffee and pastries.

“Table for one?” a bored-looking hostess with thick-rimmed glasses and dark red lipstick asked him. He shook his head and pointed to his sister, who had turned around in her chair and was waving to him like he didn't already know she was there.

“I'm meeting her,” he said, and the hostess just nodded, waving him past her. He rounded the podium she was leaning on and continued over to Mali, who stood up to greet him. Whenever he saw her, even if it had only been a few days, she acted like it had been years.

“Cal,” she said, using his name as a greeting instead of “hello” or something that a normal human might use. She pulled him in for a hug, and by the time she had, he'd forgotten to think his sister was weird. He really liked spending time with her, and maybe she only acted like she missed him terribly because they really didn't see each other often enough. Half of the growing up he'd done had been on tour, after all.

“Hey Mali,” he said, wrapping his arms around her as well, before they pulled apart and sat down across from each other. “Been here long?”

“A bit,” she answered—which he knew was the truth. Her coffee cup was nearly empty, and there was a Moleskine notebook in front of her, being held open on one side by the saucer. Her scribblings—which included mostly song lyrics but also some doodles—were visible. Both pages were nearly completely covered with words, and the pen was still resting in the crease down the center of the pages.

“Sorry,” Calum said, but Mali shook her hand and slid the saucer to the side, picking up the notebook and pen and putting them away in her bag, slung over the back of the chair.

“Don't be silly,” she said, lifting one hand to adjust the sunglasses a little further up her nose. Calum resisted rolling his eyes. “You were right on time. I came early because it helps me concentrate.”

Calum did roll his eyes a little at that—it was loud as hell in the café, not only with the chatter of patrons but the clinking of drinkware, the various machines used to make the array of drinks offered, and the street traffic, which raised in volume whenever the door opened. At least Mali wasn't writing a _novel_ in a coffeeshop—then he would tell her he couldn't associate with such a cliché.

Mali didn't miss the eyeroll, but she did choose to ignore it, not that it actually bothered her anyway. She opened her mouth, but as she did, a waitress appeared at the table.

“Another chai?” she asked, and Mali turned to her, smiling.

“Yes, please, Miranda,” she said.

The waitress—Miranda, apparently, though Calum didn't know how his sister knew that since she wasn't wearing a nametag—turned to him expectantly. “And for you?”

“Um, just...a plain coffee. With milk. Please,” he said, awkwardly—he felt exceptionally out of place in this café; he'd just as soon have grabbed a cup from a convenience store and met Mali at the park or something.

Miranda nodded and turned away again; once she was out of earshot, Calum looked at his sister, her eyes mostly hidden by the dark lenses. “Do you know her?”

Mali lifted her coffee cup and finished what was left in it before placing the empty cup down and moving the saucer over to the edge of the table. “I didn't when I came in,” she said, and Calum nodded, mostly to himself. Mali had this thing where she liked to have conversations with strangers, getting to know people just enough that they weren't strangers anymore. She said it was the best way to live a life: be kind and get kindness in return. Calum just thought it was weird, making small talk with someone he'd probably never see again, but he'd also been exposed to a lot more people than Mali had. She and her music were popular in Australia, and did pretty well in the UK, but she hadn't yet broken into the mainstream the way 5SOS had. It was hard to shake old habits.

Calum blinked, pulling himself out of the pit of his thoughts—which had begun a dangerous descent into Ashton territory—and when he looked at his sister again, she was studying him hard through her sunglasses. He had half a mind to just pull them off of her face.

“You were deep in thought,” Mali said, leaning back in her chair, one arm draped over the back of it, the other resting on the table.

“So?” he asked, huffing a little. He knew that she wasn't purposely giving him a hard time, but he suffered from...little sibling syndrome, or something. “You aren't the only one who can be introspective, you know.”

She laughed, just as Miranda returned to the table carrying their drinks on a small tray. She placed Mali's chai in front of her, then Calum's black coffee in front of him, along with a miniature pitcher of milk. She gestured to the far end of the table, against the window. “You can find sugar and everything there.”

Calum looked over, picking through the multicolored paper packets for some sugar, as Mali smiled up at Miranda. “Thank you,” she said, so earnestly that Calum thought he might gag.

“Sure thing!” Miranda chirped, holding the tray vertically in front of herself. “If you need anything else—well, you already know my name, so just call. Or wave.”

Mali smiled and lifted one hand to wave goodbye, fingers wiggling, as Miranda gave them a warm smile and turned away to check on her other tables.

“The worst part is I know you're being completely genuine,” Calum said, pulling almost all of the sugar packets out of the small container that held the sweeteners and letting them fall to the table, askew.

“How is that the worst part?” Mali asked, lifting her cup to her lips and taking a small sip of it. She reached for a sugar packet and emptied it into her cup, stirring afterward.

“Just is,” Calum said, ripping the edges from three sugars and dumping them in his coffee.

“You're too cynical,” Mali said, watching him as he topped off the cup with milk; she knew he'd add more as he drank too. “And too disrespectful of coffee, Calum, my God.”

“Hey,” he said, tasting his coffee and then adding two more sugars to it. “I don't give you a hard time.” Mali opened her mouth, but Calum cut her off. “About your drink choices.”

She pursed her lips, smirking, a short laugh huffing through her nose. She put her cup down, but kept her hands around it, warming them. “You're such a little shit.” Calum smirked too, and Mali continued. “Never change.”

“I don't plan on it,” Calum replied, sipping his coffee, placing it dead center in the saucer after he lowered it from his lips. His sister didn't say anything for a moment—so Calum knew she was about to ask him something, and that something was going to push him further into the belief that she was fucking psychic or telepathic or whatever. He looked up at her, raising his gaze from the coffee cup, and sure enough—

“How is everything going, with the band?”

It was an innocent enough question. His mother asked him that every time they spoke on the phone, or every time he went round for dinner. But when it came from his mum or dad it was a question about his career, his well-being. Coming from Mali, it sounded a bit different, like she just _knew_ something was going on in his life that had happened because of or was centered around his band.

“It's good,” Calum said, nodding. “We actually just recorded a new EP yesterday. Eric and Tyler were fighting over what to call it, like always.”

Mali bit the inside of her cheek. “Didn't Jimmy usually come up with good names?”

Calum fought hard to keep the accusing scowl off of his face—it was almost like she already knew he met up with Ashton, so he didn't know why she didn't just ask instead of playing around. Mali had been one of the few people that Calum had told about his relationship with Ashton—his parents didn't know; he wasn't even sure if Ashton had told his mum, or brother and sister.

He cleared his throat before answering, lest he give anything away, somehow, with his tone. “He did, yeah. But he actually quit last week. I think his wife is having a baby.”

“That's wonderful,” Mali said, though without the conviction to show that she really meant it—Calum met her eyes, and from what he could see over the rims of her sunglasses, he could tell she looked focused, like this was the part of the conversation she really wanted to have. He wondered if, maybe, she _did_ already know about Ashton—but how could she? She'd always kept close tabs on Calum's music. That had to be it—she just wanted to know what they were doing now. The two of them had always been super focused on their music. Maybe Mali just wanted to be sure Calum and his band hadn't hit a snag.

“Yeah,” Calum agreed with her. “We had to use a session drummer, but it worked out, actually.” He debated coming clean and telling her it was Ashton, but before he had a chance to say it, his sister asked another question.

“Anyone good?” Mali asked, and picked up her cup again, sipping the chai latte and humming in appreciation. Calum studied her for a moment; she looked like she was just asking, just trying to catch up, not pump him for information.

“Actually,” he said, throwing in a laugh and trying to play it casual. “You'll never guess who it was.”

“Tell me,” Mali said, putting her cup down after another sip.

“It was, uh. Ashton.”

“Ashton,” Mali repeated.

“Ashton,” Calum said again, confirming it with a small nod of the head.

Mali didn't say anything for a moment; Calum could feel more than see her eyes sweeping over him behind those dark glasses, obviously trying to get a read on how all of this made him feel. Finally, she spoke. “That's...improbable.”

Calum laughed, finally releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Of course his sister's reaction would be on how unbelievable it was that just so happened that Ashton was the session drummer they'd ended up with out of who knows how many there were in Sydney. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Was he happy to see you?” Mali asked.

The question made Calum's stomach clench—he had been, but maybe not as happy as Calum would have liked. So he just nodded and answered with a rhetorical question. “Who wouldn't be happy to see me?”

Mali laughed—and Calum smiled, even though she was laughing at him; his sister's laugh was infectious. “I can think of a few girls you went to high school with who might not be. What about the one you went out with once, and then blew off to go to Brazil instead?”

“That is not what happened!” Calum said, but Mali was still smiling—just teasing him—so Calum shook his head, laughing to himself. “That's _not_ what happened. But—all right, yeah, he was. We went and had a drink after.”

“That's great,” Mali said, and she sounded sincere this time, as opposed to her comment about Jimmy's wife's pregnancy. “I always thought it was a shame you two fell out of touch. And living so close to each other too.” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

Calum looked down at his coffee, taking a sip so he wouldn't have to answer right away. “It happens.”

“How did you leave it?” she asked, and Calum understood that this was a question about their past, about when they were a couple.

He took another sip of coffee. Mali did the same; she wanted him to answer, but she wouldn't push him. Based on his reluctance to tell her about Ashton in the first place, and how cagey he was acting now, she thought she already knew the answer.

“Just friends,” Calum said, finally. He wasn't looking at his sister when he answered, preferring to stare at the traffic light outside changing color, but he could tell she would lighten up a little. Her posture changed; her shoulders slumped just a little, her back arched forward so she could rest her elbows on the table. She didn't say anything for a long moment—she didn't speak at all until Calum looked back at her again. She'd taken her sunglasses off.

“Whatever you two decide, I'm glad that he's back in your life, Calum,” she said.

Calum just nodded. “It's cool. I'm cool with it. I mean—he moved on, I moved on. I did just friends with him before, and I can do it again.”

Mali looked as though she didn't entirely believe him, but she gave him a smile anyway. “So, anyway—would you be ok with it if I asked him to do some drumming for me?”

Calum grinned, straightening his back. “Definitely.”

–

“Thanks so much for coming over on such short notice,” Mali said, walking out of the small kitchen attached to the living room, which also doubled as a dining room. Her apartment was spacious—it was a two-bedroom, but she lived in it alone, using the spare room more or less as storage space (and sometimes a makeshift closet).

She crossed the room to where Ashton was sitting on her couch, an electronic drum kit set catty-corner to him. He reached out when she proffered a mug of green tea, then settled back further in his seat as Mali sat at the other end.

“Sure, no problem,” Ashton said, sipping the tea. “Did you want to...?” he pointed with his thumb at the drum kit, but she shook her head.

“I know I said drumming to Calum originally, but I wanted to see if you'd be ok with playing some keyboards for me, actually,” she said. “I've got some slower songs I want to get done first.”

Ashton nodded, looking away from the drums to Mali-Koa. “I was glad you asked for my help,” he began. “It'll be pretty cool playing for you.”

Mali smiled, sipping from her mug as well. “Probably a bit different than what you're used to.”

Ashton shrugged one shoulder. “A bit, yeah. But I can adapt.” He laughed; she didn't, so it trailed off into silence. He took another sip of tea, aware that Mali was watching him. Calum had warned him about this—he'd told Ashton that his sister liked to stare. He tried to press on. “So, we can get started whenever.”

“Yes,” Mali said, nodding, but instead of standing up to do that, she put her mug down on the worn wooden coffee table that Ashton could tell was decades old and probably purchased secondhand...maybe even thirdhand. “I can show you how to play them on the piano, and I'll play along on guitar, if you're all right with that?”

Ashton nodded—he'd have even been fine playing guitar while Mali played piano. “That's fine.”

“Good,” she said, leaning back on the couch after readjusting herself so she was sitting further away from Ashton, but now facing him. She picked her mug up again. “We can catch up first.”

“All right,” Ashton said. He cradled his mug in both hands and looked over at her, smiling. He wasn't entirely sure he was prepared for a game of 20 questions with his old best mate/ex-boyfriend's elder sister, but it wasn't like she was a complete stranger.

“How have you been?” Mali asked, looking right into Ashton's eyes—he felt a little uncomfortable in her stare, like she was actually looking into his head for the answer to her question.

“I mean, I'm great,” Ashton plowed on, though, not letting her dissuade him from answering the question. “I've got a good job, I see my family as much as I can—and I just found Calum again, which was really cool. Really lucky.” He tried to keep that statement as innocent as possible; he felt more than lucky to have found Calum again, even though they were just going to be friends this time around.

“It really is lucky,” Mali said. She crossed her legs and let the bottom of the mug rest on her knee, her arm resting along the length of her thigh. “I just can't believe you two ever stopped talking in the first place.”

Ashton gave a short, huffy laugh. “It happens.”

Mali's eyebrows raised; that was the same answer Calum had given. She nodded, wanting him to continue. Ashton wasn't really sure what else there was to say on that topic, but he could tell she wouldn't let it drop. She looked interested and determined.

“It wasn't like we decided to stop talking,” he explained to her. “What is it people say about that shit—life got in the way, right?” He tried for another laugh, but Mali looked unimpressed with what he was saying.

“It's just a shame that you two went your separate ways,” she said. “I think we all really thought you two would stick it out.”

“Oh,” Ashton said, laughing as though he only just remembered that he and Calum had been more than friends. He had vaguely suspected that Mali knew about them, but he was never completely certain that Calum had told his sister. “It was good for what it was. Like—when we were younger, I mean. It worked, then. But...being in one place, settled down—” he stopped himself, not sure that this was appropriate to be saying to Calum's sister. He didn't think Mali was the type to gossip—but better safe than sorry, right?

“Being settled down is what made it not work?” she asked, one eyebrow still quirked up, questioning him. He knew what she was angling at; typically settling down made a relationship a sure thing.

Ashton sighed, placing his cooling tea on the table. He collected his thoughts for a moment. “Sometimes something is right in one situation,” he said, “and that same thing is just...wrong in another. It worked, but then it didn't. That's it.”

Mali licked her lips, frowning down at her nearly-empty mug of green tea. After a moment's reflection, she looked back up at Ashton. “Like I told Calum. I'm honestly glad you two found each other again. Even if...you're keeping it simple this time.”

Ashton gave Mali a small grin—apparently she had no hard feelings against him for giving Calum—hell, _and_ himself—a broken heart.

“Anyway,” she said, standing up, the off-white shawl she wore falling down over her waist and hips, and moving over to where her keyboard was set up. “Shall we?”

“Yes,” Ashton said, voice much stronger than it had been just moments before—he was glad for the distraction.

There was a folding lawn chair set up in front of the keyboard stand; it was the kind with the woven back and seat, made out of some kind of manmade plastic, that was fraying in some spots around the metal tubing that made up the frame of the chair. Mali sat down in it and turned the keyboard on, playing a minor chord, then a major one, like she couldn't decide how she wanted to handle this first song. Ashton stood close behind her, watching.

“The first song goes like this. It's pretty simple,” Mali said, fingers bent just slightly over the keys. She took a breath; Ashton watched her closely. It was like her whole body was already feeling the music she was about to begin playing; it made him smile a little. He'd always enjoyed what he'd heard of Mali's music—whatever Calum had played them on the tour bus, or what he'd downloaded by her on iTunes after she moved to London and hit it big. He had the feeling that listening to her sing and play right in front of him, that getting to play with her, would be something wonderful.

Her fingers flexed just briefly over the keyboard before she began playing, and Ashton forced himself to watch how she was playing, instead of focusing on how enthralled she looked in what she was doing. After a few bars—which he had to admit, weren't quite as simple as she had led him to believe—she began to sing, voice smoky quiet. His smile grew—he would have to seriously thank Calum for suggesting him to Mali to help her record. This was going to be a genuine pleasure.

It didn't even take very long for Mali to teach Ashton the songs she wanted to record—and there were only three of them. The others, she told him, would be done by her other friends; they required a bit more than just a piano and some guitar.

“Still, though,” he said to her, over another cup of steaming hot green tea, after they'd finished the songs, “thank you.”

They'd relocated to a poker table, covered in green felt, that Mali had explained was what she used as a dinner table and that she had inherited from a man she met regularly at the corner store where she bought her groceries. He had played poker on it, of course, but Mali, who didn't play cards, put it to another use. Ashton just went along with it—everything Mali owned seemed to have some kind of story attached to it; it was amusing and endearing all at once.

“For what?” Mali asked from behind him; she was pouring herself tea.

“For letting me record with you.” He turned a little in his seat to see her out of the corner of his eye. She had untied her hair so it fell loose around her shoulders, dark brown as opposed to the blonde he remembered her having the last time he'd seen her, years ago.

Mali didn't answer right away, instead walking around Ashton and taking her seat across from him. “If you're up for it, you can stick with me.”

“What, you mean record more?” Ashton asked, straightening up a little bit at the prospect. He would love that—not only getting the chance to work with Mali again, but meeting more musicians in Sydney, networking.

“Well, yes,” she said, smiling, the apples of her cheeks rounding up. “Maybe permanently. You're sort of what we're looking for, you know. Plus...you joined a band with one Hood once. And lightning actually _is_ more likely to strike twice.”

Ashton laughed, shaking his head. “You want me to join your band?”

“We don't really call ourselves a 'band,'” she said, lifting one hand off her tea mug to do air quotes. “But, essentially...yes. We're going to tour the UK soon. Don't tell me you don't miss it.”

Ashton did miss it—but he knew for a fact that he'd miss his family too much after being back with them for so long. And as for touring...how would it feel to do it without Calum, or Michael, or Luke? That part of his life seemed to be over for now. Calum had been the one consistent thing he had on tour, the one thing that reminded him more of home than actually being there. How could he do that all again, without him?

But Mali was offering more than just money or fame—she was more passionate a musician than any of the people he played with any given day at the studio. He would love the opportunity she could provide.

“I'll see,” Ashton said. Mali seemed to accept this as a promise that he would think about it. He finished his tea, thanked her again, and stood up to leave. She walked him to the door and gave him a kiss on the cheek, a kiss that felt like it was searing into his skin long after she'd pulled away, after her lips were no longer near his. Seeing Mali had confused him even more than seeing Calum had., and he wasn't really sure how he felt about it.

–

Ashton did a double-take when his phone rang. Not because he wasn't expecting it—which he wasn't—but because it was a ringtone that he'd bought as a joke years ago and never really let it die out. It was Nickelback's “Photograph,” and it was assigned to three people: Calum (who never called him after their breakup), Michael, and Luke. He had to assume it wouldn't be Calum—they'd only just begun talking a couple weeks ago, so he wasn't sure if they'd been upgraded to phonecall status again yet. That left Michael or Luke. A quick glance at the time on the microwave on the formica counter in his apartment's kitchenette told him it was half nine in the evening, and the resulting calculations told him that meant it was half two in the morning in Los Angeles.

He'd had his fair share of drunk calls from Michael before (they usually ended in Michael asking Ashton to have phone sex and Ashton hanging up, laughing), but by the time he pulled his phone out of his pocket he could already tell this would be different. It wasn't a regular call—the screen showed that Luke was requesting to FaceTime with him. He laughed and swiped right on the screen, accepting the call, and was immediately accosted with loud laughter and background noise. He could tell they weren't alone just by what he was hearing, but he wasn't sure exactly where they were.

“Hey guys,” Ashton said, walking over to the small couch he had in the living area of his apartment. He settled down on it, one foot resting on the couch cushion, his arm resting on his knee as he angled the front camera toward his face.

“Hey!” Luke shouted into the phone; Ashton didn't need him to, since his house was relatively silent, but Luke probably couldn't even hear himself thinking. Michael pushed into the frame next to Luke, their cheeks squished together, Luke's dirty blonde hair mingling with Michael's—oh, it was traffic safety cone orange this month. Ashton smiled at the sight of it.

“Hi,” Michael said, grinning widely.

“Bit late, isn't it?” Ashton asked, his grin not fading.

“What?” Luke said, apparently offended. “It's not even 2 yet! It's still _early_.”

“It's so early,” Michael agreed—he sounded a bit more inebriated than Luke did.

“Did you guys have a show tonight?” Ashton asked. Michael nodded quickly—then stopped, deciding that might not be the best idea.

Luke spoke, however. “Yeah. Well, I did. Michael crashed it. Dude, we played 'Don't Stop' acoustic, it was hilarious.”

“We punked _the whole crowd_ ,” Michael said, disappearing offscreen for a moment before he returned, this time holding what looked like an entire bottle of whiskey and drinking straight from it.

“Luke, come on, stop him,”Ashton said, and Michael booed loudly.

“You're not band dad anymore, Irwin,” Michael said, but he allowed Luke to take the bottle from him and place it aside.

“So, anything you want to tell us?” Luke asked. Michael leaned in close to the screen again, only his eye and half his nose visible. The ensuing scuffle between himself and Luke allowed Ashton a moment to consider. They had to be talking about Calum—like, they had to. There was nothing else that had happened since he had last spoken to these two that they could possibly mean.

By the time Luke righted his phone, half of his face and half of Michael's visible, Ashton had put on what he hoped was something of an innocent look.

“No?” he said, feigning confusion.

“Nothing?” Michael asked, leaning in again, but Luke managed to hold him back this time.

“We talked to Calum,” Luke said.

Ashton cleared his throat and looked away from his phone screen, studying the broken floor lamp in the corner. It had come with the apartment but he couldn't be assed to get rid of it. “Oh yeah?”

“You guys hooked up again?” Luke asked.

“No we didn't!” Ashton protested. “We had two beers, like—that's it.” He realized his mistake a beat too late—he'd admitted to seeing Calum. It wasn't that he was trying to hide it from Luke or Michael. He just wanted a chance to figure out how he felt about staying just friends before he told them.

“Are you guys getting back together?” Michael asked. Luke shushed him and mumbled something that ended with “they're not,” but he couldn't make out the first two-thirds of the sentence.

“We recorded some music together,” Ashton explained. “His band came in to my studio.”

“Did Mali-Koa come into your studio too?” Michael asked, and this time Luke didn't try to rein him in.

“What?” Ashton asked. He didn't think that this really had been the purpose of the call, but he didn't like that it was heading down this road.

“Calum said you've been hanging out with Mali all the time lately,” Michael said. He leaned offscreen again—they could hear him laughing, then he settled back beside Luke with a bottle of beer. He held it up for Luke's approval; Luke nodded, and Michael took a long sip.

“Not all the time,” Ashton said, just as Michael lowered the bottle.

“So what, are you straight now?” Michael asked, then a small mewl of pain escaped his lips, and Ashton would bet Luke had elbowed him in the side. “What? I'm drunk, I can say whatever I want.”

“I was never not straight,” Ashton said, and Luke quirked a disbelieving eyebrow at him, so he continued, “I mean, I was never not—whatever! I am allowed to like Calum. Like you two've never thought about it.”

“I haven't,” Luke said, but Michael spoke over him.

“Oh, I _totally_ have.”

Ashton took a deep breath, but instead of saying anything, sighed loudly, leaning his head back. He didn't move for a few minutes, not wanting to deal with this but also not wanting to end the call. He heard Luke say “Go ahead,” and then “Oy, Ash,” and by the time he looked back, it was just Luke onscreen, alone.

“Where'd Michael go?” Ashton asked. In lieu of answering, Luke turned the phone to show Michael in the middle of a huge pile of people all taking selfies and laughing. Then he turned the phone back to himself, and Ashton sighed again.

“So what, you have a thing for Mali now? One Hood wasn't enough?” Luke asked; he only sounded half-judgy.

“No, I do not have a thing for Mali,” Ashton said, and he didn't think he sounded defensive at all. Because he totally didn't have a thing for Mali. Not worth mentioning, anyway. He had a thing for _Calum_ but that wasn't allowed. He remembered the kiss on his cheek and was glad when Luke spoke again.

“Then why are you hanging out with her all the time?”

“I can't have friends?” Ashton asked, a little annoyed. Did Calum put Luke and Michael up to this? He wouldn't.

Right?

“Isn't Calum your friend too?” Luke said.

“Well—yeah,” Ashton said, but it was partially drowned out by Michael yelling for someone to take a picture of his ass and text it to him. Luke looked over for a minute, trying to figure out exactly what the hell was going on. He yelled "Michael! Pants _on_!" but then turned back to Ashton. 

“I mean, it's cool that you're suddenly besties with your old bestie's older sister, I guess,” Luke said, as Ashton watched Michael run behind him, chased by a group of people. “I just figured maybe you and Calum would hang out.”

“We did hang out,” Ashton said—but that was just once, and he admittedly hadn't texted Calum since. He didn't mean to blow him off, but Mali's invitation to join her not-band and tour was sounding better every time he thought about it. He missed it—he missed the rush of being onstage that playing in a studio didn't provide, he missed playing to a crowd who fed their energy to the people onstage, he missed...all of it.

And...well, the thought of getting to spend time with Mali-Koa was pretty nice too. But—he totally did not have a thing for her. Definitely not.

“I'm sensing a 'but' here that you're not saying,” Luke said, ducking his head as Michael ran past again, slapping the side of Luke's face as he ran by. “Ow.”

“But she wants me to play with her band.”

Luke looked surprised. “She what?”

“She invited me to play with her band, like—permanently, I guess? She wants me to come on tour with them in England and stuff.” Saying it out loud made Ashton feel bad—like he was using her. But she invited him—and it might not even be permanent. Maybe he could tell her it would just be a trial thing, just a few more shows to get over his mid-life crisis (which was still a few years too early, by his count) and get this out of his system. Then he could return to Australia, back to normal. Then he could hang out with Calum. Since Calum clearly had no qualms about touring without him.

Which—ok, he knew that was a low blow. Ashton had chosen to stop playing music in that capacity, and that wasn't Calum's fault. But this was an amazing opportunity (at least, that was what he was telling himself): He would get to play with Mali, who was an amazing musician, who gave every bit of herself to her music, just like Ashton felt he did. Calum—Calum did too, but he didn't want Ashton anymore. Was Ash really so bad if he wanted to distance himself from more heartbreak?

“Tour?” Luke repeated. “You're gonna go on tour with Calum's sister?”

“I don't know!” Ashton said, frustrated at his inability to make a decision—go on tour and have fucking fun, or stay in Sydney for a guy who probably didn't even want him anymore. “But I don't know if I want to be around Calum if I can't be with him, too.”

There, he'd said it.

Luke bit his lipring, something that Ashton had always found endearing but now found irritating and condescending. “Have you talked to him? Like—told him that?”

“We decided to stay friends again. Surely he told you that?” Ashton said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

Luke opened his mouth to answer, but his expression didn't look argumentative; it looked soft, like maybe he had something to say that wasn't a question or accusatory. If he did, he didn't get the chance—Michael was back. He tossed himself next to Luke, almost toppling whatever they were sitting on over. His shirt was off and his hair looked matted to his head. Luke grimaced almost immediately.

“Why are you _wet_?” he demanded, trying to shy away from Michael.

“I knocked over the beer pong table,” Michael said, grinning, clearly proud of himself. He lifted his shirt to try and dry his hair with it, like it was a towel.

“Why would you do that?” Ashton said, at the same time Luke asked, “Who set up beer pong out here?” Luke looked over to his left, the direction Michael had come from.

“Where are you guys?” Ashton asked.

“Feldy's,” Michael answered. Luke looked back after a moment. “Tonight was Luke's last show on this tour, so we are _celebrating_. Did you know that in some places, beer pong is called Beirut?” He whispered the last word like it was a secret.

“Well,” Ashton began, seeing an out, finally, “I don't want to keep you.”

“Wait,” Luke said, but Ashton kept going.

“I'll speak to you soon,” he said.

“Speak to _Ca_ —!” Luke said, but Michael jabbed his finger at the screen mid-sentence, and the call ended.

Ashton watched the image of them until it faded, then lowered his phone. He should speak to Calum—he owed it to him, he knew he did. They had history—a really long fucking history—but part of him just...didn't know how, or what to say. They had already decided to become friends again, and he didn't think it was right to spoil all of that with unrequited feelings for Calum, after they'd both grown up and gotten over it.

It was probably wrong of him, but running away from all of that with Mali was the easiest solution to his problem, at least for a couple weeks, or however long they would be gone for. It was a dick move—but it wouldn't be the first time he did wrong by Calum. Might as well...keep up his losing streak.

–

Ashton could honestly say that he was perfectly content to leave things as they were with Calum, chalking Luke's urging to talk to him up to something like drunken ramblings, if not for the fact that he knew Luke hadn't been even half drunk, and that Luke texted him not even a day later. It was mid-morning when Ashton's phone buzzed on his nightstand; he wasn't asleep, but he was still lying in bed. He grabbed the phone and checked the text; he wasn't sure who he expected it to be, but it sure as hell wasn't Luke.

 _I know you don't want to but you should really talk to calum_ , it said.

Ashton pursed his lips and tapped out a reply. _There's nothing else to say, Luke._

_That's not true, i think you'd both be better off talking to each other_

_What exactly did he say to you?_ Ashton knew it wasn't really cool to ask, and he didn't really expect Luke to tell him, but he was curious about why Luke was even bothering. Like...this was the most contact they'd had in months, and it was in a 24-hour period.

_That isn't for me or michael to tell, so just talk to him already ok?_

Ashton didn't reply right away. He sat up on his bed, the covers falling to pool in his lap as his phone vibrated again in his hand. He looked at the text before the screen dimmed again.

_I just think you guys can make this work if you want to_

Ashton scoffed, the phone screen fading to black as he watched it. Yeah—they could definitely make it work as friends. That was the easy part. The hard part was going to be having to lie to himself every time he and Calum hung out, or went for a beer, or met up with friends at a local band's show—maybe even Calum's band's show—and pretend like he didn't want to feel Calum's skin against his, in the most innocent and the most depraved ways.

 _I'll see._ he sent to Luke, mostly to keep him off his case. He took a deep breath, sighed it out, then laid back down. He wasn't ready to get up just yet.

He tapped away from Luke's text message and opened a new one up, selecting Calum's number from his contacts. He tried at least four different messages before he settled on, _Talked to Luke and Mikey last night. Made me miss the group. We should hang out some time._

There. Effort.

–

“I'm not sure why I have to come,” Mali said, inspecting her fingernails; they were long, fake, pointed, and painted dark green. They were side-by-side, walking down a sidewalk to the bar she'd picked for their little hangout.

“It'll be less awkward,” Calum said, though he wasn't entirely sure this was true. At least he knew that Ashton and his sister had been getting along all the times they'd hung out. Together. Without him.

“For whom?” Mali asked, tone aloof. She adjusted the cowl neck of her sweater, then tugged the sleeves up a bit further on her forearms.

“For me,” Calum said. “That way, when he has nothing to say to me, you can talk to him.”

“Why would he have nothing to say to you?”

“We barely spoke for five years, Mali,” Calum said, fully aware of how childish he sounded. “If he had nothing to say then, why would he have anything to say now?” She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her. “It happens.”

She pursed her lips, frowning when he used that phrase, but looked at him anyway, stepping around a man walking a dog. “You both keep saying that. 'It happens.'”

“It does happen,” Calum said. “It did. He wants to stay friends—and. And so do I.”

Mali didn't respond; she just rolled her eyes. She thought was pretty obvious that her brother still liked Ashton, but maybe they really didn't have feelings for each other anymore. Ashton tried pretty hard to avoid the topic when she brought it up. She would have to see how they acted around each other to figure out what was really going on.

They rounded the next corner in silence, but Mali pointed to an awning decorated with tiny white lights, just as Calum nodded toward Ashton, who was standing outside, hands in his pockets, awkwardly studying his shoes. He looked up just as they approached him, and he grinned at Calum, his gaze lingering for just a moment before he turned his smile on Mali.

“Hey guys,” he said. “I wasn't actually sure this was the right place, it's so...” he began, but trailed off, because Calum was smirking and Mali looked at him like if he finished that sentence he wouldn't like what happened next. Ashton backtracked. “It's so different, right Calum, from where we hung out. Right?”

Mali's look intensified—but then she laughed, shaking her head. “You mean it's not a dump?”

Ashton laughed too, but he didn't sound entirely amused at being embarrassed by Calum's sister. Mali walked past him, up the short steps to the door, and Calum threw his arm around Ashton's shoulders.

“Nice one,” he said, and Ashton laughed.

“Shut up,” he said, nudging Calum in the side with his elbow, before continuing.

“So listen,” Ashton said, ignoring how he could see Mali blatantly staring at them from inside. “I...have something to ask you. About Mali.” Speaking with Luke and Michael—well, mostly Luke—had made him think that he needed to just...tell Calum she'd asked him to play music with her on tour. It made sense, he thought—if he asked Calum if it was cool, and Calum said it was, then he was golden. Besides, Calum would understand. They were both musicians, and Calum would get wanting to play onstage. He did it often, still.

Calum met Ashton's eyes, but he really, _really_ didn't want to. He wasn't sure what Ashton was going to ask him, but he felt completely certain that it probably had something to do with how Ashton had spent more time with his sister in the past couple weeks than he had with Calum in the past five years. “You don't have to ask me anything,” he said, trying to keep his voice normal without a thick layer of jealousy on top of it.

Ashton blinked—did Mali already speak to him about it? It would make sense, he supposed; he probably knew she was going to be leaving for tour at some point. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Calum said, nodding, even though his brain was telling him not to and his chest felt tight. If Ashton liked Mali now, over him, that was their business, not his.

“You're really cool with it?” Ashton asked.

“Yes, Ashton,” Calum said. He took a step toward the steps leading up into the bar; he could see Mali looking at them impatiently already.

“Maybe you could come too,” Ashton said, though—a last-ditch effort to try and get Calum to...to admit that he was still interested in Ashton, or something.

“Come where?” Calum asked, turning back to look at him. He regretted bringing his sister now; he felt like she was driving a wedge between himself and Ashton, and he hated it, even though neither Mali or Ashton had done anything wrong—he'd said he didn't mind that they hung out, hadn't he?

“To...England? She wants me to tour with her band for a few shows, I guess.” Ashton studied Calum's face; he felt like maybe Calum didn't know this particular detail.

Not that Calum's response would have given anything away. “Oh, well—my band's got some stuff going on the next few months, promoting the EP and stuff. Playing shows, you remember how it is.” He honestly thought that Ashton was just trying to tell Calum that he was interested in Mali—not that she'd apparently invited him to visit another country with her. He didn't really think that his sister wanted anything from Ashton other than someone else to play an instrument for her, but that didn't make him feel any better about it.

“Right,” Ashton said, nodding along. He grinned at Calum—trusting that he would tell him if he wasn't entirely all right with it; Calum was quiet, but he could tell Ashton anything—he always had. “I'll send you a postcard from every stop.”

“You could just text me,” Calum said, trying to keep things friendly and playful and not like he was dismayed by this tour revelation.

“Yeah, but who likes instant gratification these days?” Ashton asked, smiling. Calum smiled back at him, and he felt like maybe they could fall back into the swing of their friendship. They'd done it before, he thought. They could do it again.

Mali pushed the door open and stuck her head out. “Are you two coming in?” she called to them.

“Yes, Mali,” they both said at the same time; they met each other's eyes and, despite all the unsaid things between them that were unbeknownst to each other, laughed, heading into the bar.

–

“I'm just telling you now,” Calum said, his hand wrapped around his third glass of beer. He wasn't drunk, yet, but he was feeling really _happy_ about everything. “Ashton is the best person to tour with. He's clean, and he's really, like, mature, so you never have to worry. He worries about everything for you.”

Mali sipped her drink through a straw; she was still on her first. They'd sat down and the tour had been the first thing Calum had brought up—and the topic he kept returning to. He seemed a little too happy about it for Mali to believe him, but she didn't say anything and only looked at Ashton in surprise. Ashton had just shrugged; it wasn't really his fault—Calum had genuinely seemed like he knew about it.

“So, Ashton acts like an adult on tour,” Mali said, summing up what Calum meant...just, concisely.

“Yes,” Calum said, laughing a little. “He always did.” He looked over at Ashton, who was also cradling a glass of beer in his hands.

“Band dad,” Ashton said, echoing what Michael had called him only a couple days prior.

“You really were,” Calum said, and Mali watched, smiling. The two of them were cute—but it what they were saying seemed to be true. They weren't really acting like two people who still had feelings for each other. Calum, in fact, seemed to be pushing Ashton away. Which Mali normally would have sworn she could see right through, but pushing Ashton away and actually encouraging him to leave the country were two different things, and she didn't think her brother would be that self-destructive with his feelings.

“Well, don't take this the wrong way, Ash, but we don't need a band dad,” Mali said, laughing a little.

“You guys don't know what you'll be missing,” Calum insisted, clapping his hand onto Ashton's shoulder for a moment. His sister had called him “Ash” with such familiarity that he needed to stake some claim over Ashton, and touching was the best way to do that.

Ashton only shook his head and grinned down at his beer glass, picking it up and taking a sip just to occupy himself. “It's not even definite that I'm going.”

Mali didn't take any offense; that was true. “It's kind of a big thing,” she said. “You don't have to decide right now.”

“Have you guys found another drummer for your band?” Ashton asked, changing the subject to Calum instead of letting it stay focused on himself and Mali-Koa.

“Not yet,” Calum said. “Tyler is, like, starting fights with everyone because he's so...particular. He doesn't even like me that much.”

“Oh, now, what's not to like?” Ashton said, the grin back on his face. Mali studied Ashton's face this time; she wasn't an expert, but it really looked like just fondness and not...love. Not anymore, at least.

“How much time do you have?” Mali asked, and she and Ashton laughed while Calum reached across the table to smack her on the arm. Mali just laughed harder.

Ashton's laughter slowly died down; he'd left his jacket on the whole time they'd been sitting together, but after being inside in such a warm, crowded space, he just wanted to take the damn thing off. He unzipped it, shrugging it off and draping it over the back of his chair. By the time he'd turned back around, Calum was staring, openly, at him.

“What?” he asked.

“That's my shirt,” Calum said, nodding at Ashton, where the words “Drop Dead” were printed, over and over down the front. It had faded considerably, or maybe it just looked like it had in the dimness of the bar, but Calum would have recognized it no matter how long it had been.

Ashton looked down at himself—he'd found it a while back in an old bunch of shirts he went through to figure out what to keep and what to get rid of; he probably should have realized it was Calum's, because something compelled him to keep it, but he didn't make the connection until now. “Oh shit. It is.”

“Did you have it this whole time?” Calum asked, amused.

“I guess so?” Ashton said, laughing.

“No wonder you two were a thing,” Mali said, deciding to bust out the big guns and see if these two were just playing around. “Stealing each other's clothes? Adorable.”

Both of them fell silent, which she'd expected. Ashton awkwardly laughed, and Calum drained his beer glass. The sounds of conversation went on around them, of laughter at the bar, of someone asking bartender to change the channel on one of the TVs hung up.

“What we were,” Calum said, breaking the silence at the table as he put his glass back down. He looked at Mali, then at Ashton, almost like he was just speaking directly to him, before finally dropping his gaze to the cardboard beer mats stacked in the center of the table. “We were kids. It worked because we could do whatever we wanted. It's not like that anymore. You know? We grew up. We grew out of it.”

Ashton wasn't actually sure what to say to that—he didn't entirely disagree with what Calum was saying, but that didn't mean that he'd ever actually say it aloud. He also kind of resented the implication that what they were doing—what they _had_ was just...a phase. He knew that he loved Calum, and he knew that Calum had loved him too. He'd been completely upfront with him about wanting to figure things out—himself, but also the two of them as a couple—and he'd never considered that maybe Calum hadn't been happy with that, or that he'd held it against Ashton, but apparently he did.

“Right,” Ashton half-heartedly agreed; ignoring Mali as she turned to look at him, surprised that apparently this was actually the state of things between them. Ashton felt completely certain in knowing that Calum definitely had no interest in him anymore—his tattoo of Ashton's initials had obviously been long-since covered up, and being “just friends” was actually how this was going to go, for...ever.

“How about another drink for everyone?” Mali said, her tone not nearly despondent enough for the turn the conversation had taken.

“Sure,” Calum agreed, and Ashton echoed him.

She left the table, and Ashton leaned closer to Calum. “Is that really how you feel?” he asked, almost desperately. “We grew out of it?”

“Didn't we?” Calum asked, meeting Ashton's eyes and holding them this time. “Isn't that exactly what happened?”

Ashton scowled at him. “No, it's not.” He glanced over at Mali—the bartender was mixing her drink, but there were two glasses of beer ready to be carried back over.

“Then what was it?”

“It wasn't just something to grow out of,” Ashton said. Calum gave him a look; he didn't understand what Ashton was going for with that, because he believed that it was. “Cal, I never—” Ashton began, but before he could finish the sentence, before he could admit that he still had feelings (real, very strong feelings) for Calum, Mali was back. She placed all three glasses down on the tabletop and slid each beer glass over to its respective boy.

“How about something less depressing?” she asked, sliding back onto her stool at their table.

Ashton hummed lowly in response, probably not even audible over the loudness of the atmosphere. Calum picked up his glass, but asked, “Like what?”

“A toast,” Mali said. She looked between Ashton and Calum. “To new beginnings?” Neither of them responded. “No? To...finding closure, then?” She lifted her glass and Ashton clinked his against hers just to get her to stop trying.

“To closure,” Calum repeated, lifting his glass and letting it _tink_ against theirs. Ashton watched Calum as he sipped his beer, but Calum didn't look at him again. He hated this—he hated that Mali bringing up their history had fucked it all up. He knew she had good intentions, but he and Calum had been getting along fine...but now, that was over, at least for tonight.

“Might get outta here after this one,” Calum said, lifting his glass to indicate what he meant.

“Calum,” Mali said, frowning; she thought they could still salvage the night. “Don't.”

“It's cool,” he said, shaking his head. “I don't feel that great anyway.”

“If you want, Mali, we can go somewhere else after this,” Ashton suggested; he probably shouldn't have, because it was immature, but he wanted to make Calum jealous. He gave her a look, one corner of his mouth was curled into a smirk, and one eyebrow was raised, barely but enough to indicate that he might have had more than drinking on his mind. His eyes flicked to Calum, wanting to know if it was working, if he'd gotten to him enough to say something.

Both Mali-Koa and Calum looked over at Ashton; Calum had caught the look on his face, and Calum himself looked like he couldn't believe Ashton had just said what he did (in front of him, at least), and Mali looked torn between being interested and offended on her brother's behalf. Ashton just kept his eyes on Mali, waiting for an answer.

She reached up to tuck some stray strands of hair back behind her ear. She knew she really shouldn't say yes—this was her brother's ex-boyfriend, and even though they were both dead set on proving how not in love they were anymore, she still felt some hesitance. She was spared having to make a choice by Calum speaking.

“You two would be great together,” Calum said, voice flat, his clearly bitter intonation disguised a bit by a group next to them at the bar whooping after knocking back some shots. “Go ahead. Go on tour. You'll be happy.”

He took a final sip of his beer and reached into his pants pocket, making sure his apartment keys were there—he didn't want to have to go back to his sister's place to get them. He pulled them out of his pocket and nodded to his sister, to Ashton. “See you around.”

“Calum, wait,” Mali said, sliding off her stool as Calum did and following him for a few steps, but he just held up a hand to stop her from speaking. He shook his head, purposely avoiding looking at where Ashton was sitting behind them.

“I told you. We're both over it—fuck, he _clearly_ is over it if he's asking you out,” Calum said. Mali thought nothing could be further from the truth, but Calum didn't give her a chance to say it. “I needed to know how he felt. Well, now I know. Now _you_ know. Take him on tour with you.” He bit his lip. “It's easier this way.” He gave her a small smile, then pulled her in for a hug. Before she could really even hug him back, he'd pulled away, turned, and left.

Mali watched him as he walked back up the street, until he passed the last window and she couldn't see him anymore. She looked back at Ashton, who had stood up and pulled his jacket back on.

She rolled her eyes to herself—the pair of them deserved each other, they were so stupidly similar and stubborn, and she wasn't going to tiptoe around her brother anymore. “Ready to go?” she asked, as he approached her. He nodded, leading her toward the door with his hand on her lower back. She found she didn't entirely mind.

–

By the time Calum got back to his apartment, keys jingling in his hand as he unlocked the door, he'd calmed down and seriously regretted leaving the way he did. If Ashton and Mali did hook up now, he had no one to blame but himself. He'd all but told them to do it. That might not have even been what Ashton had meant by going somewhere else. But the look on his face... _Damn it_.

He tossed his keys onto his couch and turned into his bedroom, kicking his shoes off and slamming the door shut behind him. He wanted to just lie down and sleep, forget about everything in the hazy warmth the four beers were letting him feel, but he couldn't, because he'd basically just told his sister to take Ashton away on tour, and that was literally the opposite of what he wanted.

Instead of nearing his bed, he stripped off his shirt, tossing it into the corner of his room. Normally he would tuck worn clothes into a laundry bag for when he made a trip out to wash his things, but he just wasn't giving any fucks right now. He undid his jeans and pushed them down, kicking them into the corner as well as his socks. He was left in his underwear—how he normally slept—but after one step toward his bed, he changed his mind yet again.

Crossing over to his dresser, he knelt down in front of it and tugged open the second to last drawer, which was an ordeal because it really was stuffed with more t-shirts than it should have been. There was one shirt in particular he was looking for. He knew he still had it, because he'd purposely kept it, denying it every time when Ashton had asked if he'd seen it. Before the move back from L.A. to Sydney, Calum had packed one of Ashton's shirts in with his things. At the time it had been an innocent decision, but after their breakup it was a conscious attempt to keep some kind of connection between them.

He'd emptied nearly two-thirds of the drawer before he found it. A sleeveless shirt, the words “Weekend Warrior” written across it in all capital letters. He sat back on his heels for a moment, looking at it, before putting it on and then shoving the rest of the shirts back into the drawer. They were sloppy, now, and the drawer refused to budge after it was half-closed, so Calum just left it as it was. He stood up, tried to push the drawer closed again with his foot, and when it didn't move that time he really gave up. He returned to his bed and pulled the covers back, sliding between the sheets and laying down. He tucked his nose against his shoulder.

The shirt didn't smell like Ash anymore, he noticed, closing his eyes and adjusting how he'd positioned his head on the pillow.

_ && _

“He'll be ok,” Mali said. She and Ashton had left the bar just after Calum, but by the time they'd gotten outside, he was gone. Ashton was a little glad for that—he was kind of feeling guilty about what he'd said.

“Yeah,” he said, agreeing with Mali, despite his misgivings. He'd given Calum plenty of opportunities to say something, anything, and he hadn't taken them. That wasn't really Ashton's fault, was it?

“So...where did you want to go?” Mali asked, looking up at him, a faint smile on her face.

“Wherever,” Ashton said, but he hoped she knew he meant one of their apartments.

“Wherever,” she repeated, smirking. He grinned at her, and she laughed. “So, how about my place, then?”

“That works,” he said, and she gave him a knowing look. Calum might have given up on Ashton, but that didn't mean she had to. She lived close to the bar, fortunately, so their walk to her apartment wasn't too long. He led her up the flights of stairs to her hallway; they'd hung out enough recently that he could probably navigate her building with his eyes closed. He walked past her door, leaning on the wall as she unlocked it and entered, holding the door open as he passed through, then let it swing shut behind them.

“Should we pretend that you're here for coffee, or should we just not bother?” Mali joked, and Ashton snickered.

“I say not bother, but I'm up for whatever,” he said. “Except coffee.”

Mali pressed her lips together into a line, trying not to laugh, trying not to pretend like she hadn't expected this since they left the bar, and maybe even before that. She took a step toward the hallway leading off of the living room, gesturing for him to follow her as she turned the corner. He took a moment to do a celebratory fist pump, then collect himself and follow her.

When he reached her room, she was sitting on her bed, unzipping her boots. She glanced up when he entered the room, then said, “Hey,” like she hadn't invited him over to begin with.

“Hey,” he replied, a smile still on his lips. He stood in the doorway for a moment as she stood up and opened her closet door, placing her boots inside of it.

“You can take your shoes off,” she said, now moving over to a small vanity tucked into the corner, where she removed her jewelry. Ashton watched her, hesitating; should he be, like, undressing? Because she wasn't, and he didn't want to be presumptuous, but she had taken him to her bedroom, so what was the plan, exactly? He didn't want to ask, so he just took his shoes off like she said, unlacing the boots and kicking them haphazardly to the side.

Ashton looked up again to find she'd removed her sweater, revealing the formfitting tank top she'd had underneath it. He swallowed thickly; he had a much better idea where this was going now. As she turned and walked over him, he kept his eyes locked on hers, until she put her arms around him and closed her eyes, lifting her face to his.

_ && _

Calum was chewing his lip. He'd rolled onto his back and was staring at the ceiling; he was remembering the way Ashton looked at his sister before he left the bar—it was the same way Ashton used to look at him. Sometimes it would be in their apartment, while they were heating up ramen for dinner, because after all the time living on their own, they still hadn't learned to cook; sometimes it would be on stage, just before they played their last song, the cymbals shining glimmers into Calum's eyes; sometimes in the middle of the night, when they were both tangled together in scratchy hotel sheets and Ashton woke him up. It was a look that held a lot more than it seemed to, that made it clear that Ashton wanted to fuck—but also that he intended to make Calum feel like the only person he'd ever cared about, like they belonged to each other. Calum had seen that look more times than he could count.

Without bothering to think too much about it, he shifted himself up a little bit further onto his pillows, propping himself up. He let his left hand curl into the front of Ashton's shirt, and his right hand move down the front of his body, pressing flat into his thigh for a moment before slipping beneath the waistband of his underwear. He tried to keep himself quiet, not that it mattered, and closed his eyes, but that just gave him more freedom to imagine Ashton being the one touching him. He slowly moved his hand around his cock, stroking himself, barely, almost teasing.

_ && _

Mali had pulled Ashton over toward her bed, walking backward with her arms around him, before she felt the edge of the mattress against her legs. She stopped, pulling away from the kiss and sat down, scooching backward. Ashton moved to crawl onto the bed beside her, and she made a little room for him; when he was next to her, he leaned in to kiss her again, parting her lips with his tongue. She moved one hand to his waist, the other to his neck, deepening the kiss until Ashton pulled away, his mouth moving first to the corner of her lips, then her cheek, her jaw, and finally lower.

He pressed small, gentle kisses to Mali's neck and collarbones, his nose trailing over her skin as he kissed lower down her chest, stopped only by the collar of the shirt she was wearing. Her body was so different from Calum's—but, for fuck's sake, Calum was all he could think of. Calum and his sister shared the same brown skin, the same dark hair that looked like it might be coarse but was actually softer than Ashton's own. Every time he tried to push Calum out of his mind, his lips brushed her skin or her hair fell across his shoulder, and it all just brought him back to ten years ago, when it was Calum's skin he would kiss, or Calum's hair he felt against his cheek. He felt almost certain that Mali could tell how hesitant he was being; he wasn't sure which of them pulled away first, but he was inclined to say it was her.

_ && _

Calum gasped softly, tugging at his length as he parted his legs a little further. He wanted to draw this out, but he found his hand had tightened around himself unconsciously—he hadn't thought about Ashton like this in a long time, and now that he was, he wanted to come, _now_. He released the shirt from his grip and turned a little onto his side, moving his free hand down between his cheeks, nudging his hole with his middle finger.

Calum bit his lip, stifling a loud moan, then lifted his hand to his mouth and sucked his finger between his lips. He lowered it again after a second in his mouth, pushing into himself with a soft moan; he fucked himself slowly.

Ashton's eyes had flicked to him for a brief moment, that damn look still on his face, punishing Calum wordlessly, wanting him to say something. He knew. He knew that was what Ashton had wanted, but how could he even function, when for the briefest fucking second that look had been trained on him again?

_ && _

“Ashton?” Mali asked, voice quiet. She didn't seem upset that he'd pulled away—because it had been him, not her. “Are you all right?” She already knew the answer, but the polite thing was to ask.

“I'm sorry,” he said from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, forehead resting on the heels of his hands. His eyes were closed; he sounded disappointed in himself. “It's not you.”

 _Obviously_ , Mali thought, but she didn't say that. She shifted herself to sit beside him, placing one hand on his back to try and comfort him. When she did speak, her voice was even quieter than before. “I think you need to talk to Calum.”

Ashton turned to look at her; how could she have known what he'd been thinking of, that he'd been thinking of Calum instead of her? He licked his lip, looking away before answering. “How can I, now? He won't want to see me after this.”

“That's not true, and you know it.” Mali left her hand on his back, but bent her left leg and pulled it up onto the bed, so she could face him. “I won't be mad—but you only came over here to...I don't know. Get back at him for what he said, right?”

Ashton didn't respond, which was all the proof she needed.

“It's ok,” she said, voice a little stronger this time, and more soothing. “I think you both need to work this out. Because no matter what you _think_ —and this goes for Calum too, not just you—you're not even close to finished with each other.”

Ashton looked back up at her, expression blank before he finally managed a small smile. She was right—he knew she was, because Luke was right too. She gave him a pat on the back before he stood up to retrieve his boots.

“Thanks, Mali,” Ashton said, glancing back at where she sat, still.

“Talk to him,” she said, clearly imploring him to do it. “Everything's going to work out.”

_ && _

This time, when Calum moaned, he didn't try to hold it back and keep himself quiet. He let Ashton's name fall from his lips, set it free into the room to echo around his chest and remind him that he'd fucked up, because Ashton was fucking his sister while Calum was pathetically jerking off to a boy he hadn't even known for the past five years.

Calum finished with a quiet and final sigh, his come landing on his stomach, breath stumbling in and out of his lungs as he realized—he was being fucking stupid. He wanted to know Ash again. He wanted Ash, again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Take my hand, you can burn this city with me_

_Hey, Cal._

The morning after the fiasco that was their rendezvous at the bar, Ashton bit the bullet and texted Calum. He'd left Mali's house after another cup of green tea, meandering through the city streets until he finally felt like being stationary. He'd considered texting Calum as soon as he was home, shoes kicked off into the hall closet, face buried in his pillow in a mixture of shame and embarrassment, but it was considerably later than it had been when they'd all left the bar, and he didn't want to risk pissing Calum off even further.

So, he sent the innocuous text and waited. He watched the screen until he finally saw the bubble pop up on the left side of the screen. He sucked the inside of his cheek—but then it disappeared. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, then frowned when it didn't reappear. For an inordinate amount of time.

He had enough time to migrate from his bedroom to his living room, settling down on the couch, tapping the screen every few seconds just to keep it unlocked and lit. Calum began typing again. Ashton watched the ellipsis bounce one dot at a time until the text finally appeared on the screen.

_hey_

That was all it said. Hey. God damn, had he fucked things up. He thought about what he wanted to say before typing.

_Can we talk? Maybe we can get coffee._

This time, Calum answered him right away. _i don't think so_

Ashton wasn't above begging, but he didn't think he wanted that to be his first course of action. _My treat. I just want to explain._

_you don't need to explain anything_

_I really do though. Because last night was kind of bullshit on countless levels and I'm sorry._

Ashton watched the bubble appear, then vanish, then appear again, before Calum said something to him.

_like i said you don't have to explain anything or apologize. we're all grown ups_

Ashton snickered—Calum really wasn't acting like a grown-up. _Then can you give me a chance to apologize to your face?_

There was another pause, before Calum replied. _ok_

–

“Hey.”

Ashton's body tensed, startled at the sudden voice over his shoulder. He looked back behind him, turning slightly on the bench where he sat, near the edge of a park across from a small corner store where he'd gotten two coffees, one for each of them. He hoped Calum still took it the same way he used to: super light, super sweet.

He met Calum's eyes, glad he was there; part of him hadn't entirely expected Calum to show. He moved over on the bench as Calum rounded it and sat beside him. Ashton picked the still-full coffee cup up from the ground and handed it to Calum, who took it without a word.

“I'm sorry about last night,” Ashton began. Calum just nodded; he was fiddling with the plastic top of his coffee cup, but he hadn't given any kind of indication that he was going to drink it. “I wasn't thinking. Did, um...Did you talk to Mali?”

Calum shook his head; Ashton felt like he was probably giving his sister the same silent treatment as he was giving Ash, but at least he'd agreed to meet Ashton.

“Nothing happened,” Ashton said, suddenly and without thought. Calum actually looked at him when he said this; the surprise was visible on his face, and Ashton felt his stomach drop out of his body. Part of him was offended that Calum would actually believe that Ashton slept with Mali, and the other part knew that he had every right to think that had happened, since Ashton...kind of intended it to.

“Nothing happened?” Calum repeated, incredulous, finally snapping the plastic top open and pushing it into place. He sipped the coffee; Ashton felt a little bit of pride when Calum took a second sip—so he had ordered it right. He resisted the impulse to smile.

“I—I mean,” Ashton began, and Calum sharply turned his head to look at him, like he would be more angry that Ashton lied about it than that it happened in the first place. Ashton continued. “We kissed. For like three minutes. But then she—we stopped. _I_ stopped. It was wrong.”

Calum considered this—he studied Ashton's face, like he was reading him, trying to figure out whether this was the truth.

Ashton tried to make it sink in, that he really meant it. “It was wrong to do that to you, especially when...being friends with you means more to me than that.”

Calum looked as though he really didn't want to, but he cracked a smile. He looked away quickly, raising his coffee cup to his lips to keep Ashton from seeing. “Honestly, I was just mad you were trying to sleep with my sister.”

Ashton laughed, because he knew Calum meant it as a joke, and also that he didn't mean it at all. It wasn't true—but it was easier to both understand the real reason behind everything that had happened and not acknowledge it. They were going to move on, move past this, and be totally ok again.

“Want to go for a walk?” Ashton suggested, stretching his legs out in front of him on the bench, purposely kicking Calum's foot.

“To where?” Calum asked, nudging Ashton's foot back with his own.

“Anywhere,” Ashton said, standing up and streetching a bit, rising onto his tiptoes and arching his back. “The studio. I don't think anyone's booked it. We can play a bit.”

“We don't have to go to the studio,” Calum said. “I would've brought my bass if you wanted to play.”

“Then let's go where your bass is,” Ashton said, looking down at where Calum was still sitting on the bench, legs tucked under the seat, ankles crossed.

“You're just inviting yourself over to my place?” Calum asked, smirking, but he stood up too. Ashton shrugged.

“...Yes?” Ashton said, and Calum snickered, shaking his head in response.

“All right, fine,” Calum conceded. He jerked his head to the side. “It's this way.” The park they'd met was actually pretty close to his apartment; if Ashton had chosen this park, it must have meant he lived pretty closeby too. He couldn't believe that they'd lived _this close_ to each other for years and never even bothered to try and keep in touch.

Ashton took a swig of his coffee and then set off after Calum, already a few steps ahead of him on the sidewalk.

“So,” Ashton said, after they'd walked a couple of blocks in silence.

“Yeah?” Calum looked over at Ashton.

“I don't know,” he said. “Just trying to make conversation. It's...we used to have so much to talk about. Now it's like...there's nothing.”

Calum bit his lip, taking a sip of his coffee just to have something to do, avoiding answering the question for a little longer. “That's just because it's still awkward. It'll go back to normal.”

“You think?” Ashton asked, a little too earnest for him not to really be relying on the answer.

“Yeah,” Calum said, nodding. He glanced over at Ashton, a half-smile on his lips. “It happens.” Ashton smiled too, at that. “But we'll get it.”

–

“I'll play bass,” Calum said, leading Ashton up the rickety stairwell to the door of his apartment. The building itself looked like it was in a lot worse shape than it actually was; it was old, but everything inside of it was pretty much new. The second-to-last stair creaked as Calum stepped on it, and then creaked louder as Ashton stepped in the same spot not a moment later. Ashton hurried to step off of it—the last thing he needed was to fall through the stairs.

“Gee, really?” Ashton followed Calum across the landing to the first door, which he unlocked and opened, letting Ashton step in first.

And when he did, he almost froze in place—he had let Calum keep most of the shit they'd furnished their shared apartment with, the one they'd gotten when they first moved back to Sydney, but he didn't think—or really, he didn't expect—Calum to arrange everything the same way they had done it when they were still together. The couch was angled against the corner the same way, facing the flat TV set propped up on a low table, except now it looked like the base of the TV was duct taped to the surface.

“I can't tell you how many times Sparky almost knocked that thing over,” Calum said, noticing where Ashton was looking. He closed the door behind them. “That's what the tape is for.”

Ashton could tell from how cavalierly Calum spoke of the dog that he'd done that a long time ago, but just never removed it.

“Smart,” he said, laughing.

“You know me,” Calum said, crossing the living room and motioning for Ashton to follow him. There was a small kitchen with what looked like a shelf running along the wall, with a couple bar stools set up beneath it—clearly Calum used this instead of a table, because what probably would be the dining room for anyone else was set up with music equipment. There was an amp in one corner, an ashtray containing picks on top of it, a small keyboard on a stand, and the rest of the space was taken up with guitar cases. Calum gestured at the stools, waving his hand toward them, as he pulled one of the cases to the front of the bunch. “Mind pulling those over here? Unless you want to sit on the floor.”

Ashton shrugged, then spoke. “Floor's fine to me.”

In response, Calum just knelt down and opened the case. Ashton expected a bass guitar to be inside, but it was an acoustic. He pulled it out of the case and handed it to Ashton. “Cool?”

“Cool,” Ashton said, nodding. He sat down, leaning back against the wall beneath the shelf, beside the stools. Calum closed the case and reached for another one, which was much more worn—Ashton recognized it from the day he'd come to the studio. He opened it and sure enough, it was the bass with the pink X on it. Ashton smiled, plucking some strings on the guitar in his lap.

“Mind if I plug this in?” Calum asked, walking on his knees over to the amp.

“No, but will your neighbors?” Ashton asked, laughing a little.

Calum shrugged. “I'll keep it low,” he said, turning the amp on and lowering the volume before even plugging his bass into it. He sat across from Ashton, facing him.

Ashton paused; Calum looked like he was ready to dive into a song, but Ashton had no idea what they were going to be playing, if anything. “What are we doing?” he finally asked, after a moment.

“Play something,” Calum said. “Just play, I'll follow along.”

Ashton bit his lip; he hadn't written anything original in a while—like, since 5 Seconds of Summer split. He just didn't have the time to flesh any song ideas out. He adjusted his fingers on the strings anyway, though, and began playing. Calum waited for Ashton to find his stride and then let his fingers work over the bass. It wasn't that good—just playing with no motivation or direction was never really that good—but when he glanced up at Ashton and saw him smiling, eyes crinkled at the corners, he smiled too.

They played for another few minutes, until Ashton stopped strumming the guitar. Calum waited, turning toward the bass and adjusting the knobs on top of it, just a little.

“How about something we both know?” Ashton said, and Calum just nodded absently, still fiddling with the dials.

He was kind of glad Calum wasn't paying attention, actually—he couldn't see Ashton smirking, almost laughing, at what he was about to play. Because he'd remembered what Michael had said when they FaceTimed, and it seemed like it would be a good throwback, even though not one of them could stand the song.

Calum turned back to Ashton just as he began to play, catching sight of the smirk on his face. Once he recognized the song, he groaned loudly, but Ashton had already begun singing Luke's part of the song: “You're like perfection, some kind of holiday...”

“I can't believe you,” Calum said, but Ashton just sang over him, grinning. Even though he was trying to scowl at Ash, he couldn't quite suppress his smile, and he joined in on his bass, playing even though he was still shaking his head at Ashton, and even joining in on the chorus.

Ashton almost didn't expect him to, but Calum sang his verse. He sang it damn well, too, with Ashton harmonizing with him. The song fizzled out after the second chorus, neither of them wanting to play any more of it but what they had played definitely lifted their spirits even further. Ashton was giggling a little, leaning back against the wall, and Calum shook his head again, but when he spoke, it was clear he thought it was funny.

“Of all of the songs,” he said, his tone amused, “you just had to pick that one?”

“You are literally a 'Don't Stop' acoustic, Calum,” Ashton accused, and Calum finally let himself go and just laugh outright at it.

Their laughter died out shortly after, but the room just felt warm and full, not awkward like it might have if they hadn't made up—or...their version of making up, anyway. Calum broke the silence after a few minutes.

“I knew it was you in there,” Calum said. “I could tell.”

Ashton lifted his head from where it had been leaning against the wall. “Where?”

“In the studio, with that other band. I could tell it was you.”

Ashton laughed. “Because of our love connection?” It was the first time either of them had verbally acknowledged their past in a way that wouldn't end in misery.

Calum hesitated in answering, knowing each moment that passed would help to dissolve the good atmosphere in the room and make it more awkward that he wasn't saying shit. He just wasn't sure _what_ to say—but he decided after another moment's deliberation that if Ashton could joke about it, so could he.

“What else could it have been?” Calum asked.

Ashton shrugged; he could choose to keep it light or get serious. He wasn't sure why he chose the latter, but he did. “I mean, we played together for years. It makes sense you'd recognize my drumming, right?”

Calum looked at Ashton for a moment. It did, but he wasn't sure what Ashton was trying to say, so he just shrugged. “I guess.”

“It's just, you know. One of those things. I'd probably recognize your playing anywhere,” Ashton said, then grinned. “Rhythm section life.”

Calum smiled too, remembering when they used to call themselves that. It wasn't really anything—just something they'd come up with, but after they got together it felt a little more special than it had before that, something that was just the two of them, that meant something. “Was it a mistake?”

Ashton's smile faltered, but just a little. “Was what a mistake?”

“Breaking up,” Calum clarified, not meeting Ashton's face, not wanting to see the answer that he was sure would be written clearly there.

Ashton weighed his options—clearly Calum had an answer in mind, but Ashton didn't know which one. He did know, though, that even though he'd chosen “best friends” when he chose to describe their relationship the first time they'd gone for drinks after recording, Calum hadn't corrected him. So he went with that. “No. It was what was right for us at the time.”

Calum disagreed, but he didn't want to be _that_ asshole. So he just nodded. “Yeah. True. Definitely for the best.” He didn't even sound bitter—he'd gotten pretty good at pretending.

“Want to play some more?” Ashton asked, readying himself to play the guitar again, but Calum shook his head—ok, maybe he wasn't _that_ good at pretending.

“Nah,” he said, moving over to the amp again and shutting it off, unplugging his bass and carefully stowing it away.

Ashton bit his lip, now that Calum's back was turned. He'd given the wrong answer—he'd sincerely thought Calum just wanted to be friends, but now he knew, he was wrong. He hoped that he'd been wrong—he still wanted Calum, desperately for fuck's sake—but Calum hadn't said anything to Ashton. Fucking hell, would they really have both gone on being miserable because they were too proud or scared to admit they still had feelings for each other?

He pushed himself to his feet, carrying the guitar over to Calum, who turned when he heard Ashton approach. “Thanks,” he said, taking the guitar and putting it away too. He snapped the case shut and stood, giving Ashton a hesitant smile when he turned around to face him.

“This, uh...probably wasn't as fun as it could have been,” Calum said apologetically. He looked around, gaze settling on the TV. “Maybe we could—” he said, but he was cut off by Ashton leaning in and kissing him—no warning, no nothing: Just his lips on Calum's.

Calum kissed him back—he'd been waiting for this for five fucking years, and he never thought it would actually happen again. But kissing Ashton was exactly the same as it had been back when they first told each other how they felt, when he confessed that Ashton felt like home to him, when Ashton realized that Calum was just the same for him. There was no reluctance between them, no hesitance, just the two of them back to normal, back to what they should have been the whole fucking time. Calum barely broke the kiss to tell Ashton to back up, go down the hall to his room, mumbling the words against his mouth.

It was a short trip, but now that Ashton had his hands on Calum again the last thing he wanted to do was move them away, so what should have taken a few seconds took much longer, because Ashton was trying to walk backwards while Calum pushed him vaguely in the right direction.

Calum’s side caught the doorknob as they passed into his room, and while he noticed it, the pain didn’t provide enough of a distraction for him to pull away from Ashton, whose hands were splayed out on his back now that they were just standing in Calum’s room, and no longer trying to walk there while practically attached to each other. Calum’s hands curled into fists in Ashton’s shirt, holding him as close as possible, tugging him even closer still. Ashton’s tongue parted Calum’s lips, deepening the kiss as Calum whined softly—Ashton had lowered his hands to Calum’s ass, kneading it through the denim of his jeans as best he could. 

Calum licked Ashton’s lower lip, pulling away from him entirely, their fronts separating as Calum yanked his shirt off over his head. Ashton barely had time to take in Calum’s shirtless form, fully realizing the sheer amount of new tattoos he’d gotten, before Calum was back on him, tugging Ashton’s shirt up. Ashton let him, shrugging the garment off and letting Calum pull it over his head, toss it to the floor, and hook one hand around his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It was hungry and desperate and Ashton felt vindicated that he wasn’t the only one who had longed for this. Even though it took them five years to get the fuck over themselves and their stupid bullshit, they had each other again. Maybe it was just for the night—but it was still happening.

Calum’s hands were on Ashton’s lower back, his fingertips pressing into the skin and sliding lower, down, over his ass, into the waistband of his jeans. Ashton nuzzled Calum’s jaw, kissing it softly as Calum rolled his hips against Ashton’s; it made him think back to the first time they ever messed around, in that hotel room back in some city—he didn’t even remember which anymore. He gave in incredibly easy then, and he was going to give in just as easily this time, too, he could tell.

Their lips parted enough for Ashton to pull away, and Calum released him, letting Ashton step back. He looked worried for a brief moment, like Ashton was going to pick his shirt up and stomp out of the apartment, but he didn't. He only unbuttoned his jeans, looking down his own body as he did—before glancing back up at Calum, trying to be sure that this was right, that this was where they were headed. Calum just did the same, undoing his jeans and pushing them down. He stepped out of them at the same time Ashton did, both of them left in just their underwear.

It was too dim in Calum's bedroom to see much of anything in the shadows thrown from the lights in the living room, but when they moved toward each other again, fronts pressing together, Calum could feel Ashton's length against the front of his thigh, just stiff enough to tell he still wanted this after so long. Ashton's hands were cupping Calum's face, and Calum put his hands right back where they'd been before: On Ashton's ass, but this time he'd slipped them inside of his underwear—skin on skin.

Ashton made a small, pleased noise into Calum's mouth as Calum not only squeezed his ass cheeks, but pulled them apart too, spreading Ashton open for him. Calum lowered his mouth to Ashton's neck, sucking his skin, wanting it to bruise so there would be a reminder that it was still real after they were finished. “Missed this,” he mumbled against Ashton's neck, and Ashton hummed in response, hands on Calum's bare back, pressing flat against him to keep him close. “Missed you,” he added, and Ashton pulled away again.

The same fear as before was in Calum's eyes, though it faded as Ashton moved over toward the bed. Calum followed him closely, climbing on behind him. Ashton settled back against Calum's pillows, and Calum climbed right on top of him, their mouths meeting again, kissing softly as their hands rediscovered each other. Ashton let his hands drift around on Calum, first touching his chest, then his sides, finally stopping them on his waist, but Calum didn't want to waste any time. Not even a day ago, he was lying exactly where Ashton was, getting himself off thinking about _exactly this_. He moved one hand to Ashton's side, the other to cup him through his underwear, rubbing him just a little through the soft fabric. Ashton sighed quietly, rolling his hips up into Calum's hand for more friction.

Calum pulled his hand away, smirking a little before climbing over Ashton's leg to settle beside him on his knees. He curled his fingers into the elastic of Ashton's underwear and pulled them down; Ashton lifted his hips to facilitate what Calum was doing. Once Ashton was naked, Calum leaned down to kiss him again before whispering, “Turn over. On all fours.”

Ashton met his eyes for barely a second before he hurried to do what Calum had asked. He rolled onto his front and held himself up on his knees, resting on his elbows so his ass was in the air. Calum snickered audibly, moving one hand over Ashton's lower back. Ashton heard the bed creak a little as Calum moved behind him, fingertips ghosting over the skin of his thighs. He didn't bother trying to look over his shoulder at what Calum was doing, because he could already anticipate it, and he was practically vibrating with excitement. His cock twitched at the thought of what Calum was about to do, and while he had his suspicions, he wasn't even 100% sure what it would be.

After another moment of suspense, he felt one of Calum's fingers trail over his back, right down his spine. Ashton arched his back against the touch, but Calum's finger didn't move away. He just kept it moving straight down Ashton's back, down between his cheeks and over his hole. Ashton's body tensed as Calum circled his hole with his finger, teasing him.

“Dude, come on,” Ashton said, trying to keep his voice from sounding whiny.

“You waited five years,” Calum said, pulling his finger away. “I think you can wait a little longer.” He pushed Ashton's knees a little further apart.

Ashton pushed his face into the pillow in front of him and groaned in frustration, which turned into a groan of pleasure when Calum's returned to teasing him. This time, though, there were two fingers, rubbing over his hole in small circles, pushing against him; he grinned when Ashton moved back against him. Calum pulled his hand away and lifted it to his mouth, sucking his fore- and middle fingers before touching Ashton again. He heard Ashton sigh despite the pillow muffling his voice.

He leaned in a little closer to Ashton and replaced his fingers with his tongue. Ashton made another noise, a loud moan that was perfectly audible—he'd probably turned his face away from the pillow. Calum lapped at Ashton's hole, slowly, drawing it out, making sure to press the tip of his tongue against him with every pass. Ashton whimpered for more, so Calum went along with it—he angled the tip of his middle finger against Ashton's hole, which opened for him after just the slightest pressure. Ashton moaned again, softly, as Calum pushed his finger in further.

“Shit,” Ashton breathed out, feeling himself stretching around Calum's finger. He hadn't done this often since they broke up, and never with another person, so the stretch felt like something forbidden that he shouldn't like, but did, because it was familiar. He clenched around Calum's finger when he pulled it out a little, then groaned when he pushed it back in. Ashton shifted his weight to one elbow, lifting his other hand between his legs, wrapping his hand around his cock. He jerked himself quickly, but found Calum's hand around his wrist after about five strokes, holding his hand in place.

“Go slow, or stop,” Calum said. Ashton listened; when Calum released his wrist, Ashton lowered his hand again. Calum rubbed Ashton's side. “I'll get you,” he said. “Don't worry.”

Calum waited a moment for Ashton to find his balance again before moving his finger in and out of Ashton, slowly working it inside of him. He lowered his face down beside his hand and let his tongue trail around where his finger was stretching Ashton out, flicking it against his rim. Ashton whimpered each time Calum's tongue pressed against him for a brief second before moving somewhere else. Finally, Calum licked a stripe up around the side of his finger, tongue flat against Ashton, and as he did, he crooked his finger inside of him, trying to find Ashton's prostate.

A short whine sounded from Ashton's throat, so Calum tried again, and again, until the whine turned into a loud gasp, which turned into a groan for more. Calum pressed his fingertip against the same place, still licking over him with his whole tongue, and Ashton groaned, reaching for his cock again. Calum grabbed his wrist before he could even touch himself.

“Let me, ok?” he murmured, knowing Ashton could hear him because he nodded fervently against the pillow, mumbling, “Yes, yes, yes, please,” in response.

Calum took Ashton's cock in his hand and stroked him, much quicker than Ashton thought he would; his hips bucked forward into Calum's hand of their own accord, dragging Calum's fingertip over his prostate as he did. Ashton moaned “ _Fuck_ ” into Calum's pillow, trying to keep his hips still so Calum could jerk him off and finger him and make him fucking come.

Calum kept his finger pressing repeatedly, gently, against Ashton as he worked his hand over him; his knee was resting against Ashton's and he could feel his leg trembling. Calum doubled his efforts; he licked Ashton's hole around his finger, squeezed his cock tighter, pressed his thumb against the wet, dripping slit of his dick, and after another minute, felt Ashton's entire body tense and contract, stilling itself, but Calum kept moving, not stopping for anything, and finally Ashton's body released; he came with a loud cry all over Calum's hand.

Calum didn't stop moving until Ashton's body relaxed; he felt Ashton weakly attempt to move, but he'd come so fucking hard he could barely manage it. Calum laughed a little, ignoring Ashton's mumbled “Shut up,” and helped him roll onto his side, avoiding laying in the mess below him. Calum moved behind Ashton, spooning him for the moment, his arm over his side and letting his hand rest on Ashton's stomach.

“I think you got better at that,” Ashton said, huffing a short laugh; Calum leaned up to look at him, glad his eyes were closed, so he could watch Ashton without him knowing. He was smiling to himself, unaware Calum was looking right at him.

“You're just saying that because you finally ended a five-year dry spell,” Calum said.

Ashton opened his eyes, looking right at Calum, and if he was surprised to see Calum looking at him dead on, he didn't show it. He just laughed and shook his head. “Keep telling yourself that, pal,” Ashton said, finally able to move his limbs without feeling like they were made of jelly. He shifted himself up so he was sitting, legs folded in front of him; he looked down to his side at Calum.

“Well? Turn over,” Ashton said, mimicking Calum from earlier. “On your back.” Calum obeyed, grinning as he moved slightly away from Ashton and settled on his back. Ashton moved a little closer to him, too, but before making any sort of contact with his body, he pulled Calum's underwear off, throwing them somewhere in the room; he didn't know where, and he didn't actually care where they landed, either. He tried not to look at Calum for too long, because that would be creepy, but—Ashton hadn't seen him like this in a long time, and he was trying to get over how Calum still looked exactly the same as he had years ago, if not better. And he was practically _covered_ in tattoos now; his entire right arm was full, and the upper half of his left. His chest, which had a few the last Ashton had seen, had even more peppered around it; he had the one of Sparky on his ribs, which Ashton had seen before, but there were even some on Calum's legs.

“Wow,” Ashton said, without meaning to.

Calum snickered. “You've seen it before,” he said, and Ashton wasn't sure if he misinterpreted on purpose or not. 

“Your dick is not awe-inspiring, Hood, trust me,” Ashton said, smirking. “I meant...” he trailed off, letting his hands wander around Calum's body, touching the ink on his legs, then the new additions to his torso. “All of this.”

Calum tried to suppress the small shudder he felt when Ashton's hands were on him, touching him so gently. He remembered back when they were younger, how sometimes after they'd fucked, Ashton would trace the outlines of Calum's tattoos until they both fell asleep. The thought made him smile, and the smile was still on his face when Ashton moved closer. Instead of settling down on top of Calum, or between his legs, Ashton laid beside him, hooking his leg over one of Calum's, pressing himself right up against his side. He propped himself up on his elbow; Calum turned his head to look up at him, and when he did, Ashton kissed him, soft and tender, his free hand moving down Calum's front.

He felt Ashton's fingers tickle against his front, and he lifted his hips just a touch in anticipation of Ashton taking hold of his cock, but he didn't; instead, he moved his hand down between Calum's legs, pressing a fingertip against his hole. Calum couldn't help but smile a little against Ashton's mouth as they kissed, Ashton already trying to work his finger inside of him. Calum rolled his hips up a little, his cock still hard, draped over the front of his hip.

Ashton moved his hand, and Calum felt sure that Ashton was going to touch him for real now—except he still didn't. He lifted his hand and pressed two fingers against Calum's lips; Calum opened his mouth and sucked Ashton's fingers, tongue moving over and between them to get them wet. Ashton watched him, Calum's lips plump and tinged slightly darker brown than normal from all the kissing they'd already done—after a moment, he lowered his hand again, not looking away from Calum's face, eyes half-lidded and lips still parted. Ashton caught Calum's lips with his own, kissing him a bit harder this time as Calum opened his legs further for Ashton.

Right away, Ashton pressed one finger against Calum's hole, stretching him with the tip and sliding inside of him as quickly as he dared. Calum sighed softly as Ashton fingered him, slowly, then spoke.

“You can use two,” he said, sounding sure of himself; Ashton didn't want to rush things and hurt him, so he just nodded, kissed Calum again, and continued moving only one finger in and out of him. Calum rolled his hips up, trying to get Ashton's finger deeper inside of him. He pulled away from Ashton's face, opening his mouth to explicitly ask for a second finger this time, but before he could, Ashton teased Calum with a second finger, nudging it up beside the first one. Calum took a deep breath, waiting—and when Ashton finally moved both fingers inside of him, Calum released the air from his lungs, shaky and uneven. He licked up into Ashton's mouth again, sucking his lower lip, then his tongue, pushing himself down onto Ashton's fingers.

“Are you gonna—?” Calum asked, assuming Ashton would know what he meant—his cock was leaking precome all over his hip; he wanted to be touched—he felt like it had been forever since they'd kissed in his living room, and he just wanted Ashton to _touch him_ , but Ashton shook his head.

“Want to stay like this,” he said, scissoring his fingers between Cal's legs, resulting in a small whimper from him. “Touch yourself.” It was a command in the form of a suggestion, and Calum shuddered again, nodding, the small scratchy sounds of his hair against the pillow audible as he did.

He moved both of his arms: He angled his right arm beneath Ashton and wrapped it around him, his hand moving to his back, holding him closer; his left, he laid down across his front, wrapping his hand around his cock and moving it up and down his length, quickly. He felt like every inch of his body that was pressed against Ashton was on fire; Calum kissed him harder as Ashton worked his fingers deep inside, fucking him while Calum jerked his own dick, squeezing at the base and sliding his hand up. Ashton watched out of the corner of his eye as he saw Calum rub the underside of the head with the pad of his forefinger, teasing himself.

“Go on,” Ashton encouraged him, lips against the shell of Calum's ear. “Come for me.” Calum whined as his back arched up off the bed; he groaned Ashton's name, holding him even tighter as his hips jerked upward too. Ashton moved with him, his fingers stilling as Calum tightened around them; Calum's hand was unmoving on his cock as he came, all over his front, small mewls interspersed with Ashton's name the only sounds he was making. Slowly, Ashton pulled his fingers out of Calum, rubbing the front of his thigh until Calum took a deep breath, pulling Ashton down nearly on top of him.

Ashton kissed him again, slowly this time, almost lazily, as they figured out how they wanted to lay. They both stayed on their sides, facing each other, neither pulling away from the kiss even as they adjusted their arms and legs to fit together.

It wasn't too long before Calum pulled away, moving his left arm underneath the pillow he was resting his head on. “Let's sleep,” he said.

Ashton laughed, then shook his head. “It's, like, mid-afternoon.”

“A nap, then,” Calum suggested. 

Ashton snickered, but nodded. “All right, then.”

Calum had just closed his eyes when he felt Ashton's hand on his chest. He didn't open them again until he realized what Ashton as doing. He looked down at his chest; Ashton was tracing the Roman numerals he had tattooed there. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ashton cut him off; it was unintentional, because Calum could see that Ashton was looking at his tattoos.

“Remember, I used to do this sometimes?” he asked. Calum swallowed; there was a lump in his throat that hadn't been there two minutes ago.

“Yeah,” he whispered, nodding.

“It'll take a bit longer now,” Ashton said, voice quiet. He had moved on to the feather on the other side of Calum's chest.

“That's ok,” Calum said; this had always calmed him, always helped settle him down even when he felt like he wasn't ready for the day to end.

“You can nap soon,” Ashton said; he didn't sound nearly as tired as Calum felt.

Calum just hummed, eyes closing again, a small smile on his lips as he felt Ashton begin tracing tattoos he'd never seen before. He was awake for most of it, truthfully—Ashton had started on his right shoulder, made his way downward, and when Ashton had reached his elbow is when Calum couldn't really fight sleep anymore. A couple of Ashton's touches pulled him out of drifting off, but by the time Ashton had reached his wrist, Calum was asleep.

And so was Ashton's left arm. He'd been laying on it so long, it was uncomfortable. He shifted himself, trying to find a position that would let his arm stop feeling numb. Calum shifted too, moving half onto his stomach. Ashton knew Calum was asleep at that—he felt foolish for keeping up the tattoo thing for so long, before he realized that now he could look at the back of Calum's arm, see what else he'd put there. He felt a bitter bubble of jealousy burst in his stomach when it clicked, a moment later, that now he could see what Calum had covered his initials with.

No. Being jealous or bitter was stupid—he knew that. It wasn't fair to Calum for Ashton to expect that they would still be there. He tried to resist looking right away, instead looking at the back of Calum's wrist—but after about three seconds he couldn't stop himself. He looked up at the back of Calum's arm, just above his elbow, where the letters A, F, and I had been tattooed and—

They were still there.

They were surrounded by other tattoos, black and grey designs, each more intricate than the last—but the _AFI_ was still, very clearly, there. He couldn't fucking believe it. He had, Calum had—fuck, _both_ of them had put themselves through years of loneliness when that didn't even need to be the fucking case. He traced his fingers over the letters, frowning; why hadn't Calum said anything? It was just like the first time—when Calum thought they'd be better off, or something, when he'd thought Ashton hadn't liked him back. Calum was such an idiot—but then, so was Ashton. He could have said something, too.

“Are you trying to rip one of them off me?” Calum said, suddenly, and Ashton leaned away from him, startled; he hadn't realized he'd woken up or, apparently, that he'd still been touching the tattoo roughly enough to rouse him.

“You still have them,” Ashton said, tone accusatory without meaning it to be. Calum looked perplexed—then realized what he had tattooed on the exact spot Ashton had been touching, and he opened his mouth.

Again, Ashton cut him off, and he sounded much less hostile this time. “You still have—me,” he said. “Why didn't you tell me?”

Calum opened his mouth again, then closed it. He shrugged, finally, and spoke. “I didn't know what you'd think after so long. I mean—we broke up. Michael was kind of right. Remember he gave me such a hard time about it?” Ashton nodded, but didn't say anything. Calum seemed like he had a lot more to go. “I think breaking up, maybe, was right. Like you said, honestly. But—maybe that was just because we were...like, different, from when we first—whatever. We're different now too, you know? But maybe it can work again. Now.”

Ashton wasn't sure he liked where Calum was heading until he said his last bit—then a grin split his face. He tried to tone it down, but it was too late: Calum was smiling now, too.

“I guess that means you're up for it?” Calum said, laughing a little, sitting up to face Ashton.

“Guess it does,” Ashton said, leaning up to kiss Calum, just as Calum leaned down.

–

Ashton's phone beeped, obnoxiously loudly, from his nightstand. He opened his eyes, pissed that he'd forgotten to put the damn thing on vibrate.

“Who is it?” Calum asked from beside him, rolling over, pulling covers, and probably falling right back asleep. 

“Dunno,” Ashton mumbled, even thought he could tell from Calum's tone that he didn't actually care.

He squinted at the screen as it lit up, showing what time it was (5:28AM) and the text message (from Luke):

_Guess what bitches_

Ashton scowled, maybe this could wait until a decent hour, when he and Calum were sitting on his living room couch and not trying to fucking sleep. But while Ashton was looking, his phone beeped again, and he hurried to switch the damn thing to vibrate. He swiped the phone open, seeing a few texts now onscreen.

It was a group chat, something the four of them hadn't participated in in years, and Michael and Luke were both sending message after message. (It was a terrible way to have their first conversation since they'd last spoken a few weeks prior, when Ashton had texted Luke and Michael about how he and Calum were giving things another go, and he was treated to another impromptu FaceTime call from Luke and Michael a few hours later, who informed him that they had both waited until they were together to “congratulate Cashton on their upcoming nuptials.” Ashton had hung up on them.)

 _It's literally 5:30 in the morning. Can you stop._ Ashton texted back. He didn't bother to read the rest of the messages, closing his eyes against the brightness of the phone screen.

 _no sorry ash we cannot stop_ , Michael sent, and then another. _why are you asleep anyway i figured you and calum would be keeping each other up all the time_

Ashton wasn't even going to dignify this with a response, but Michael sent another one: _sucking each others dicks :D_

 _Michael_ , Luke sent. Michael sent the middle finger emoji, and Ashton was seriously about to shut his damn phone off when Luke sent another message. _Ash, just go read what else i said please_

Ashton sighed heavily; Calum rolled over, apparently still awake and huffy. Ashton scrolled up in the chat and read Luke's text. Then he read it again, and then he reached over and shook Calum until he was fully awake.

“Dude, what the fuck?” he said, actually sounding angry.

“Look,” Ashton said, shoving his phone in Calum's face. He squinted too, the bright light too much after he'd been sleeping; but when he finally was able to focus, he grabbed Ashton's wrist.

“Oh my god,” Calum said, grinning widely, demeanor completely different.

“I know,” Ashton said again, turning the phone back toward himself and rereading Luke's message, grinning widely.

_I'm playing some shows in australia and michael is coming with because he has no friends besides me. Which means we're all hanging out. So get ready_

–

The first thing that struck Ashton was that there were actually people, besides himself and Calum, waiting at the airport for Luke and Michael. Calum had stuffed a snapback onto his head, wearing a pair of Aviator sunglasses, and Ashton was wearing a jacket with the hood up. It was all for naught: They both knew no one would pay them any mind.

“What time was their flight getting in?” Calum asked.

Ashton pulled the sleeve of his jacket up and checked the time. “5:15. Should have landed about twenty minutes ago.”

Calum nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets while Ashton crossed his arms over his chest. Most of the people waiting were paparazzi, cameras at the ready, but there was also a crowd of mostly young women waiting, cell phones poised to record video and take pictures.

“It's surreal, seeing it but not being over there,” Ashton said, and Calum nodded.

The airport doors slid open, and a large number of people exited—no one from the crowd rushed forward or started to take pictures, which meant this group must just be the other passengers of the flight. The doors closed for another couple of minutes—Calum had pulled his phone out of his pocket and was tapping away at the screen, playing some game—when they felt more than saw the crowd swell. They glanced up just in time to see Luke, Michael, the other members of Luke's band, surrounded by a number of security guards and airline employees.

The quintet of musicians all greeted everyone, but the crowd was mostly after Luke and Michael—this was their hometown, after all. They posed for pictures, smiling, but Calum and Ashton could tell how tired they looked even from a distance—flying from California to Australia took a lot out of anyone.

Finally, they cleared the crowd; security was keeping most of the fans at bay, a few stragglers following and taking some more photos—Ashton was glad to see that, no matter what, Luke and Michael still obliged their fans: They took photos with everyone they could.

“Hey!” Michael shouted, lifting one arm to wave to Ashton and Calum. They grinned and waved back as Luke and Michael neared them—but almost as soon as they did, regretted it, because now the attention was on them, and suddenly it was like everyone knew who they were. The group of Luke and Michael's fans, as well as the paps, had done the math and realized those two guys weren't being sketchy at all—they were the other two members of 5 Seconds of Summer. Before they knew what was happening, the four of them were all huddled together, overwhelmed by the number of camera flashes going off.

“Did you drive here?” Luke asked Ashton, who had put an arm around him and was smiling wide, his other arm wrapped around Calum, who had removed his sunglasses at the request of the nearest photographer.

“Yeah,” Ashton said, but he knew there was no way the four of them could escape to Calum's car now.

“Want a ride with us?” Luke asked, looking over at Ashton.

“Please,” Ashton said, laughing, pulling Calum over to the left, following security over to the black SUV waiting for them.

The four of them piled inside, people still trying to take pictures through the tinted windows. In all the chaos, Luke had ended up beside Ashton and Michael was beside Calum.

“I didn't miss that,” Calum said, laughing as they exited the airport parking lot.

“I shouldn't have asked you to come meet us,” Luke said, giving Ashton an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

But Ashton was laughing a little still. “I didn't miss it either, but you have to admit it keeps you on your toes.”

“It's just because Luke is so handsome,” Michael said, and he and Calum both laughed. Luke rolled his eyes.

“So hey,” he said, ignoring the kissy noises Michael was making at him from the backseat. “We got, like, this hotel suite, or something—since there's the five of us and all. Tour doesn't actually start for a couple weeks—so we're just gonna hang for a bit, see our families and shit. I say you guys stay over tonight? We'll catch up. Party like we used to.”

“Ashton doesn't party anymore. He's too old,” Calum said, and Ashton leaned over the seat to smack him on the knee.

“Ok, we'll drink wine and order a cheese plate like adults,” Luke joked.

“I'm not an adult,” Michael said, peeking over the seat, resting his chin on the leather. “I'm ordering from the kid's menu.”

–

Luke's management had secured two suites for the five of them—but adding another two people into the mix wouldn't make any trouble. There were two bedrooms in each suite, with two large beds inside each room, more minibars than Ashton could even be bothered to count, and a stupid amount of pillows just...everywhere.

After they'd arrived at the hotel and checked in, Luke introduced Ashton and Calum to his bandmates: there was Haley, his bassist; Will, the lead guitarist, and Nick, the drummer. They all seemed friendly enough, but kept their distance: Haley immediately made an exit, saying she had to call her girlfriend and let her know she had landed safely. Will mumbled something about jetlag and disappeared into the room behind her, and Nick gave everyone a tight hug and followed, saying something about not sharing a room with Will. They heard Haley shout back “No, _I_ get my own room!” before the door swung behind him.

“They just know it's been a while since we all saw each other,” Luke explained, before anyone could say anything about his band being rude or shy. “So it'll just be the four of us—is that cool?”

“'Course,” Ashton said, as Michael led them into the room. It was ridiculously huge—like, Ashton didn't think he'd ever seen anything like it when they were still 5 Seconds of Summer. The living space had a flat-screen TV, two couches, and a bathroom that he thought might fit his bedroom at home inside of it.

“So what are we doing tonight?” Calum asked. “Should we sneak onto the roof again?”

“Do you really want to?” Michael asked, smiling, eyes bright.

Calum shrugged—he'd been joking, but. “I mean...”

Ashton and Luke laughed, and Michael just grinned wider. “Give me a couple minutes.” He walked past the three of them and out of the hotel room, disappearing around the edge of the door.

“Why do you encourage him?” Ashton said, laughing.

“It's fun, knowing he'll do literally anything,” Calum said, leading the two of them over to the couch. He sat, and Luke and Ashton sank down on either side of him.

“So is this the kind of place you always stay in?” Ashton asked Luke, looking around; there was an electric fireplace in the wall, beneath where the television was mounted.

“Not really,” Luke said, with the tone of voice that made it clear that it kind of was.

“It's nice,” Calum said, leaning forward and grabbing the remote control from the coffee table in front of them. He turned it on, flipping through channels immediately.

The three of them fell silent as Calum tried to find something to watch; after a few minutes, the door opened again and Michael poked his head in. “Let's go,” he said, then caught sight of what they were doing—or rather, that they weren't doing anything interesting. “You all suck. Hard. Come on.”

Calum shut the television off and stood, following Luke and Ashton over to the door. Once they were all together in the hallway, Michael gave them all a thumbs up and led them down the corridor, to the stairwell, and up to the door. This time, the door to the roof was locked—but Michael had somehow managed to procure a key. He unlocked it and pushed the door open. There was a brick beside the doorway; apparently, someone came up here often enough that they left behind something to chock the door open with. They had the key, so Michael wasn't worried—but he put the brick in place anyway and let the door rest against it, unable to close all the way. The four of them filed out onto the roof past him; it was still sunny, almost blindingly so, so they all split up to look for a spot that had enough shade where they could all sit comfortably.

“Over here!” Luke called; he'd found a huge expanse of shade beneath a ridge at the edge of the roof, toward the front of the hotel. The other three found him and settled in, leaning back against the wall.

None of them said anything for a few minutes—it was hot up on the roof, just a touch warm even sitting in the shade, but the sun had begun to descend so it wasn't as terrible as it could have been if it were earlier in the day. Ashton was beside Luke, his legs stretched out straight in front of him, while Luke was sitting with them crossed, feet tucked beneath his knees. Michael moved so he was facing the rest of them, legs bent at the knee with his arms wrapped around them. He rested his chin on his knees, the sun making his day-glo orange hair look even more fluorescent than it really was. Calum was on Ashton's other side, but after a moment, he moved, laying down flat on the roof with his head and shoulders resting on Ashton's legs.

“If you two keep that up, I might literally vomit,” Michael said, but when they looked over at him, he was smiling.

“So how did this happen?” Luke asked, shifting a little, turning his body more toward Ashton. “I mean, you just said that you wanted to try again, but...”

Ashton shrugged—it had just seemed like the right thing for them to do next, like how ending things five years ago was the right thing at the time. They'd been together for so long, both as a couple and not, that maybe they needed some time apart, alone, to figure out who they were: as men, and as individuals.

“That's really it, isn't it?” Calum said, speaking, looking at Luke upside-down. “We wanted to try again.”

Neither he nor Ashton seemed like anything more would be forthcoming, so Luke just nodded. “Cool.”

“Holy shit,” Michael said, after a brief pause—they all looked over at him again. He was on his phone, scrolling through something. “So, pictures of the four of us are online, right?” They nodded—that made sense, after the afternoon they'd had at the airport. “People are asking if we're back together. Like, as 5 Seconds of Summer.”

“What?” Calum asked, not quite laughing, but sounding amused and confused simultaneously.

“Check your mentions on Twitter,” Michael said to them, still scrolling, though he glanced up to make sure that they were all actually doing it. “Go on,” he urged, when none of them moved to take their phones out of their pockets.

As soon as Calum reached for his, Luke and Ashton did as well; they'd all changed their handles, getting rid of the “5SOS” part at the end in favor of their last names, but people still knew who they were.

Michael was right—there were a shitload of mentions for each of them. Ashton caught one, from some media outlet: “Are @5SOS a band again? All four boys spotted together in Sydney! When can we expect new music?” along with a photo of the four of them at the airport, smiling, their arms around each other. He scrolled through the deluge of tweets, many of them hastily written articles or posts from music magazines or websites, but most were fans, wishing it was true, begging them to make new music or do a reunion tour.

“Jesus,” Calum said, sitting up beside Ashton—but making sure that their legs were touching, because reasons.

“It hasn't been this crazy in years,” Ashton said, whose mind boggled every time he refreshed the page and saw tons of new posts about them.

Michael picked a random post to reply to—it was a girl who had a bit of “Jet Black Heart” as her handle. She'd written “PLEASE @5SOS get back together, i've wanted a reunion show for literally my entire life and i would give ANYTHING for this to happen” and had posted a picture of the band from their first show at the Annandale, side-by-side with a photo from their last show in L.A. Michael couldn't resist—the picture had made him smile. He answered, “We are all together right now, I'll tell the guys you said so :)”

He knew this would only drum up even more excitement for something that wasn't actually going to happen, but he wouldn't actually regret it until—

“Michael,” Ashton said, and he recognized that tone. It was the one Ashton used when he was being the band dad.

“What?” Michael asked, feigning innocence.

“You just replied to that poor girl and now she's going to think we're doing a reunion tour!” Ashton said, tapping the home button and getting out of the Twitter app—it was a little too much to handle after being off the radar for so many years.

“So why don't we just do one?” Michael asked, grinning at each of them in turn.

“I'd love it, but I can't just drop my other band,” Calum said, frowning. “One guy already quit not too long ago. If I quit too, they'd probably kill me.”

“And I—might tour with Mali,” Ashton said. He and Calum had talked it over—and now that Calum was on board, Ashton was even more excited about it. The “might” was really an “am going to.”

Michael scoffed at both of them, but Luke sat up a little straighter. “I've got an idea,” he said, holding up one finger to indicate he needed a minute as he dialed a number on his phone, then stood up and meandered away to make the call.

–

“Why is Luke being so sketchy?” Ashton asked, walking out of the bathroom, adjoined to the bedroom they'd staked claim to. Calum was on the bed already, his long legs bare and spread out on the covers; Ashton wasn't surprised to see him in just his underwear, but he hadn't entirely expected it either.

“When is Luke not sketchy?” Calum asked, lifting the remote and changing the channel on the TV.

“What, he just walks away to make a mystery phone call, while Michael is talking about 'just doing' a reunion tour, and then when he comes back he won't tell us what it was about? He's planning something.” Ashton shoved the toothbrush in his mouth—he knew he wasn't supposed to brush as hard as he was, but he was stressing. Who had Luke called? Why wouldn't he say? Luke was as infuriating as ever.

“Maybe he forgot to call his mum when he landed,” Calum said, not really paying as much attention; he didn't care who Luke had called, but he had a suspicion he wouldn't voice just yet.

Ashton spit the toothpaste foam into the sink and rinsed his mouth, turning the light off and crossing the room to join Calum on the bed before answering. “I don't think so,” he said. “I think—”

“ _Ashton_ ,” Calum cut him off. “Let it go. He said he'd tell us when he figured everything out, whatever that means.” Calum put the remote control aside, turning to face Ashton, who was still wearing a t-shirt along with his boxer-briefs. “Chill.”

Ashton sighed and leaned back against the plethora of pillows piled against the headboard. “I don't like secrets.”

“No,” Calum argued. “You're just a nosy bastard.”

“Shut up,” Ashton said, but leaned over to kiss Calum—that was one way to get him to stop talking, anyway.

Calum returned the kiss, moving his hand over Ashton's front to tangle in the fabric of his shirt, pulling it up right away. Ashton broke the kiss only to remove the shirt, and then leaned back into Calum, who parted his lips for Ashton, wanting more from him, immediately. Ashton obliged; he kissed Calum back, moving not only to face him more, but to climb on top of him, slotting their legs together, hips fitting perfectly so they could grind against each other, only two flimsy layers of cotton separating their cocks.

Calum's hands moved to Ashton's ass, holding his hips down against his front while Calum rolled his hips up into Ashton's; he could feel himself chubbing up against Ashton's thigh, and it made him whimper a little.

“Fuck,” Ashton muttered, reaching down to push his underwear down around his thighs, just enough to expose his cock. Calum tried to do the same, but his position was too awkward to manage on his back, so Ashton stood on his knees and pulled Calum's off. Ashton's hands moved to Calum's thighs, letting them rest on his hips as he leaned forward, bracing himself on one hand, palm flat on the bed, his other hand moving between their bodies to take hold of both of their dicks at once, holding them together.

“Ash,” Calum said, biting his lip as he looked down between them, their cocks rubbing together, fucking Ashton's hand at the same time. He moved one of his own hands there as well, resting his on top of Ashton's folded fingers, and used his thumb to smear precome over the heads of their cocks, teasing the slits of both of them as he did. They both let out identical breathy moans, and laughed a little afterward at the similarity.

Calum arched his back, holding himself up on his elbows to lean up and kiss Ashton, whose hips faltered when Calum bit down on his lip.

“Fuck,” Ashton said again, rolling his hips against Calum's over and over.

“Did you bring lube?” Calum asked against his lips, and Ashton's breath hitched in his throat at how forward the question was. He nodded.

“Do you want me to go get it?” he asked in return, his breath tickling Calum's mouth as he spoke.

“Yeah,” Calum said, nodding, and Ashton pulled away, rolling off of him. He stood, pushed his underwear down, stepped out of them, and moved to the suitcase he'd hastily packed after Luke and his security guard had brought Ashton and Calum to their respective apartments. He rifled through the contents, finding the small bag he'd filled with various toiletries—Q-tips, toothpaste...condoms and lube...the usuals, obviously. He plucked the lube and a condom out of the bag and returned to Calum on the bed.

He'd moved too; now, he was sitting up, on his knees. He met Ashton's eyes, and Ashton saw what could only be described as mischief there. Ashton paused.

“What?” he asked, and Calum just shook his head.

“Lie down,” he said, gesturing. “On your back, ok? And give me those.”

Ashton held out the condom and the bottle of lube, then climbed onto the bed and sat, leaning back but not lying totally flat. Calum moved up beside him, placing the condom down and flicking the cap of the lube open. He squeezed some onto his fingers, still sitting on his knees—and Ashton was starting to wonder exactly which of them it was for—until Calum lifted himself up on his knees and reached behind himself, spreading the lube from his fingertips against his hole. Ashton's lips parted unconsciously, watching as Calum fingered himself. He couldn't really see much from this angle, but when he glanced up at Calum's face, that was really all he needed to see.

Calum's eyes were shut, and he was biting down on his lower lip, small whimpers and moans falling from between his lips. Ashton felt him shift his weight and lowered his gaze again; he was grinding his ass down against his fingers. Ashton watched without moving for another moment—but then he decided he didn't want to just watch. He moved his right hand to his own dick, stroking himself slowly, and his left hand to Calum's, using the same rhythm on him. Calum moaned out loud this time, mouth open.

“How many?” Ashton asked, voice cracking a little.

“Two,” Calum whined, scissoring his fingers inside of himself, stretching himself. “I need three to—” he tried to say, but his voice broke. He tried again. “To take you, though.”

Ashton licked his lip, nodding a little. The hand on his own cock had stilled, but he rubbed his thumb over the head of Calum's dick, pressing slightly against the slit and drawing another filthy moan from Calum's mouth. Ashton could feel his body tremble when he, apparently, added a third finger to fuck himself, stretching his ass enough to take Ashton's cock.

The head of Calum's dick was red and wet, Ashton could tell just from his easily his thumb was sliding over it, but Calum nudged his hand away after another moment. “I'm good,” he announced. Ashton pushed himself up against the pillows a little, watching as Calum felt behind himself for the condom. Ashton held his hand out for it, but Calum ignored him in favor of tearing the wrapper open himself and rolling it onto Ashton slowly. Ashton whimpered at the contact on his dick after he'd stopped touching himself, but he had no time to really react to just how fucking hot it was watching Calum put a condom on him, because Calum had moved to straddle him. Calum was hovering above him, and Ashton did the only thing he could think to do: hold his dick steady so Calum could lower himself down onto him.

They both moaned each other's name as the head of Ashton's cock finally slipped inside of Calum. He didn't wait long to slowly slide down the rest of his length, legs folding completely until he was almost sitting flat on Ashton's front.

Ashton stared at where his body was joined with Calum's, at where his cock disappeared inside of him; he lifted his hips experimentally, and groaned again as Calum squeezed down on him. He moved his hands to Calum's thighs, fingers digging into his muscles as he flexed them, using his legs to lift himself up and sink back down onto Ashton, who was holding him tight. Calum, though, leaned forward just a bit, letting his hands rest on Ashton's sides as he fucked himself on Ashton's cock, though Ashton was making a concerted effort to roll his hips up into Calum as often as he could.

“I fucking love you,” Ashton mumbled, without really meaning to say it, but once he found that he did, he knew it was the truth. He'd never stopped loving Calum, and he wasn't ashamed of that anymore.

Calum grinned, moving one hand to Ashton's face, briefly brushing his lower lip with his thumb before placing it back on his side. “I fucking love you too,” he said, and though he sounded a bit more coherent than Ashton, he was still breathless when he spoke.

Ashton returned the smile, moving his hands from Calum's legs; he put one on top of Calum's hand on his side, not holding his hand as much as just resting it there, but he wrapped the other around Calum's cock, stroking him again, tight and fast. Calum stopped lifting himself up, instead just grinding down against Ashton's cock, feeling like he was pushing it deeper within himself each time he did. They both groaned again, each movement of Ashton's hand over him causing Calum to clench down on Ashton's cock.

For Calum, the angle at which Ashton was inside of him was doing him in; for Ashton, it was the feeling of Calum's ass around him, squeezing him, pulling him closer to orgasm each fucking time he tightened up on him. Ashton came first, Calum's name on his lips and his hand on Calum's, pressing it down against his ribs. He fucked his hips up into Calum, who just rode him through it before the erratic rhythm and friction pulled his own orgasm from him; he came in Ashton's hand, all over his front.

Ashton relaxed back against the pillows, but Calum couldn't just yet—he lifted himself gingerly off of Ashton, slowly lying beside him. Ashton floated back out of his post-orgasm haze after a moment, and rolled onto his side, pulling the condom from his dick and tying it off before shuffling out of bed and throwing it into the garbage in the bathroom. When he returned to Calum, he climbed onto the bed facing him.

They twined their bodies together, but not without leaving enough room for Ashton to trace as many of Calum's tattoos as he could before they both fell asleep.

–

A loud pounding on the bedroom door woke them the next morning. Ashton started awake, heart beating out of his chest, but Calum only pushed his face further into Ashton's shoulder. “Stay,” he mumbled.

Ashton didn't move, but he did call out, “What?” to whoever was banging on the door.

To his surprise, it was Luke, and not Michael (he'd have put money that it was Michael). “It's me,” Luke answered. “We need to talk.”

Ashton sighed and made to get out of the bed, but Calum wrapped an arm around him and tried to hold him in place. “Stay,” he said again, more forceful this time.

“Be out in a minute,” Ashton called to Luke. He felt Calum smile against his shoulder.

It ended up being quite more than a minute, but after another five attempts to get up, Calum finally let Ashton climb out of the bed.

“Come on,” Ashton said, but Calum shook his head, pressing his face into the pillow. “Come _on_ ,” he said again, but this time Calum didn't even respond. Ashton tugged the sheets off of Calum, leaving him bare, and probably cold, in the middle of the bed.

“Dick,” Calum said, the only indication that he wasn't sleeping anymore.

“Come on,” Ashton said for a third time, pulling on his underwear from the night before, then his jeans. He'd shower after Luke told them whatever was so important he had to wake them up.

Calum finally slid over to the edge of the bed, climbing out of it. He pulled on his underwear, just the same as Ashton did, but instead of trying to pull on skinny jeans when he'd just woken up, he tugged on Ashton's shirt—it was longer. Ashton mussed Calum's hair as they crossed to the door to the living room area, and pulled it open.

Ashton was glad to see that Luke and Michael also weren't dressed for the day—they were sitting on the couch and were wearing clothes that looked like they'd been slept in as well.

“Fun night?” Michael asked, wiggling his eyebrows, but before Calum or Ashton could say anything, Luke spoke up.

“I called my management yesterday,” he said, and Ashton nodded—mystery phone call explained. He continued. “They got us a gig.” He pointed at the four of them in turn. “One more time, at the Annandale.”


	5. (Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _We can set the world on fire_

“You don't have to,” Calum said, leaning over the counter, grinning.

“Yes he does,” Michael said. “It's only fair.”

Ashton wasn't as used to it as someone like Calum or Michael might have been, but the rhythmic buzzing of the tattoo machines was calming, in an eerie way.

“She's already doing it, Calum,” Ashton said, the woman behind him already outlining his newest tattoo.

“Well, I just had to say it, just to say it,” Calum said.

Luke snickered. “It won't be too sore for you to play tonight?”

“Luke, please,” Michael said, rolling his eyes. “He'll be fine.”

“I'll be fine,” Ashton said. The artist wiped the back of his arm, just above his elbow, with a paper towel, then lowered the machine again, continuing what she was doing.

“I can't believe you're here,” Calum said, reaching over to hit Michael's arm with the backs of his fingers. “After all the shit you gave me.”

“Listen,” Michael said. “If you're stupid enough to get his initials on you, and he's stupid enough to get _your_ initials on _him_...then you two assholes deserve each other.”

Calum smiled a little to himself, then glanced over and met Ashton's eyes. He was smiling too.

–

"Hey everybody," Luke said, looking out at—well, normally he'd think of it as a sea of people, but compared to the crowds he played in front of lately, this was more of a puddle. The crowd (small, but still much larger than the first time they'd played a show here) murmured, some laughing at the throwback to the song from their second album. He smiled too, looking at Michael, who nodded to him, encouraging, like he used to; then Calum, who looked like he was in his element, with his friends in a small room; and finally Ashton, who was grinning wide behind his drum kit. Maybe none of them had actually changed that much at all. Luke leaned forward again, his lips against the mic.

"We're 5 Seconds of Summer. It's good to be back."

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [maybeillfindyouhere](http://maybeillfindyouhere.tumblr.com/) • Come say hi!
> 
> _Title and lyrics from "Wildfire" by Demi Lovato._


End file.
